


DeadWar

by mabus101



Category: Angel: the Series, Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Multi, Post-Series, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-20
Updated: 2017-11-15
Packaged: 2018-04-16 07:16:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 34
Words: 115,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4616280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mabus101/pseuds/mabus101
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Years ago I began a story set post-"Not Fade Away", a disturbing tale about what happens when a Slayer becomes a vampire-and tries to continue the good fight. Eventually that story ground to a halt, but I never gave up on one day finishing it. Today DeadWar begins again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Shadow Sun

_Standard Boilerplate Disclaimer: None of the characters in this work of fiction belong to me; they are the property of Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy. I am making nothing from this fic except perhaps a reputation._

_Rating: R for violence (Yes, I mean that. This is vicious stuff.)_

**If the radiance of a thousand suns**

Killing barely requires a thought any more, for Buffy. A twitch of the fingers. A flick of the wrist. Bared fangs sunk into the neck. How long has it been since she had to reach for a weapon? Perhaps two years...a little more, maybe. Sometimes she does so anyway, for nostalgia's sake. Or for a challenge. Easier, now, to seize hold of a head and rip it free to the grate of snapping bone and tearing ligament. Easier still to merely drink, to drain the body in what she might once have called the beat of a heart. Rare, any more, for a blow to strike her even once while she feeds.

It's hardly worth the effort. More fun to dance and weave among the bodies. More fun to swirl a blade, to make it hiss and crack. Buffy's hand shoots out, finds a pumping heart and crushes it to pulp. Buffy's foot leaps up to shatter a skull. Buffy's teeth seize a bone and rip it free as she flickers backwards. Buffy's form blurs. Buffy's mind blurs, shading the world in red haze. Pain is the point. Death is the point. She has always known this, somewhere in the back of her thoughts. Fear, guilt, and shame were all that prevented her from acknowledging the fact. All three are strangers to her now.

The cries of her victims sing in her ears, in her heart, in the absence where her soul was. All too soon, though, the screams fade to silence. Challenge has become too rare. At times, even, she finds herself wishing for the old days. Wishing to face Glory again, or the Mayor in the form of Olvikan. Wishing to face anything that might risk her unlife and thrill her blood. It would almost be pleasant to reacquaint herself with fear.

Buffy slows. One dance has ended. Another, slower tune throbs softly in her brain as she gathers one of the corpses into her arms. An older tune, the reason she trudges on through the monotony of unlife. There is only so much pain one can wring from a body. True, infinite suffering springs from the mind. No. From the soul.

**Were to burst forth at once in the sky**

Death has followed Buffy around the world, but she has yet to leave the part that calls itself "civilized". Spain, China, Turkey...nowhere off the beaten path. Nowhere from which she cannot return in a month's time. She has an appointment to keep. This is the structure that gives her existence meaning.

Buffy sprints through the darkness, with the body lolling over her shoulder. She can tire, in theory, though it's been a long while. The creature she has become can run all night, fight till the sun rises, and never know fatigue, so long as she keeps herself well fed. Tonight she is far too near her goal for rest to be an issue.

Not long after midnight she reaches his doorstep. Across it she lays the body, arranging its limbs just so. Not enough to simply drape it there. Buffy wrenches an arm behind its back, pulls till the spine arches, tilts back the head, gapes the mouth in a cry of anguish. By itself the body is without meaning. Buffy takes the photograph from her pocket and tapes it to the unmoving chest. Human faces, laughing, oblivious to fear and pain alike. She scrawls her taunt on the back, the one she always leaves her ex.

Buffy stands, studying for a few more seconds. Angel could perhaps be inside. All that she has done here has been accomplished in less than a minute; were she to relent, he might never know she was here. Buffy has no intention of relenting, though. Not ever.

She turns from the scaly corpse and fades into the night. Other nights the bodies have borne horns, claws, fangs. Ridges on the forehead. Three times she has left urns of dust and ashes--the last from perhaps thirty vampires culled in one night. And the mocking photographs of the innocents she has saved. Each time, the same message.

_I can._

**That would be like the splendor**

In blood, life. Flavor sizzles down her gullet like the dizzying plummet of rollercoaster cars. Before blood, there was nothing. Buffy roots at her victim's neck, drawing out the feeding, seizing each moment. Vibrations tickle her fangs as he moans.

_If she doesn't stop, Angel is proven right. About himself. About her._

Buffy never wants this to end, except the way she could end it--one last eruption of blood into her mouth as she drains him all at once. Her stomach clenches at the thought of letting him go. The demon underlying her mind rebels.

_If she kills this one, Angel's pain eases._

It would be so easy. Shift her bite a fraction, sink her teeth into the jugular or the carotid. Draw on him with all her might and drain him like a child's shake. To kill him...to kill him would be right. Would be her right. This is the prey she deserves.

_If he dies...Angel wins._

Buffy wrenches free of him, mouth dripping crimson. The wound screams for her to come back, finish her meal. The man huddled beneath her shivers and gasps as the _(pain/pleasure)_ subsides. "Don't...don't stop." His lips, his eyes, her gut, all begging for her to return. But she doesn't.

She rises off him. It's the most jaded who ask for her, the ones ready to skirt the very fringe of death. She's tried turning them down before, only to find she was the last reason they had to live. Since then, it no longer worries her to take from them. Buffy gestures to the assistants to help him rise and turns to the door. "Next." Better, she supposes, to feed from those willing to give than to take bagged blood from those waiting to receive. It tastes better anyway.

Buffy has tried feeding from animals. Their blood is flat, listless. After a week the hunger pains give way to weakness and trembling. Another three days once left her disoriented; it was the closest she has come to killing a human. She has no qualms about draining vampires until they crumble to dust in her hands, an event once unheard of outside of ritual. But vampire blood, already used once, resembles a sugar high--powerful, but pointless in the long run.

She has made certain Angel knows she lacks certain options he had. His torture is the sole point of her unlife. If she can be good without a soul...then so could he have. Every life saved drives the knife deeper into his gut; every demon killed twists it harder. Buffy no longer experiences the torment of guilt, but she remembers. She would choose one drop of Angel's guilt over an ocean of spilled blood.

**Of the Mighty One**

They shy away from the thing she has become, human and vampire patrons alike. A gothgirl in leather shivers unconsciously as Buffy passes; her black-clad businessman bares fangs, hisses, pulls her closer. Buffy ignores the implied challenge. Those who come here--while not precisely safe from her--are the least thing on her mind. She prefers bigger game.

As well, threadbare though her truce is, making trouble here would prompt them to ban her. Buffy has no concerns that they could bar her way physically, but the operation could close its doors, or they might seek out magical assistance. She has never been good at fighting magic, though the anti-possession meditations Giles taught her have proven effective in a way he could hardly have imagined. At this distance, not even Willow seems able to break through her shields. Just as well; a soul would compromise her revenge on Angel. Willow seems not to understand; every so often Buffy must fend her off again, always a new permutation of the magicks. Necessity has made Buffy adaptable, but a mystic ward here would no doubt strain her capabilities.

All the same, the space that opens up around her has become smaller of late. She has no illusions that they are becoming used to her. Their numbers are growing; the able-bodied have begun appearing along with the weak and the young. None of them have any real age on them, not yet, but perhaps in time. If that happens, Buffy supposes she will have to stop ignoring these places; elder vampires are still worth fighting for the fight's sake. A swirl of...something...flickers through her perceptions, familiar and peculiar at once. More and more often, lately. She knows where Angel is. She knows Spike is dust. These are...something else.

"Why?" interrupts her thoughts. How long has it been since someone has surprised her? Buffy comes to a halt; the scrawny, unkempt boy on her left throws her an uncertain sneer. "You're not like us. You're strong. You could have anything you want. Anyone. No one asked you to come here and take our meal tickets. How do you make yourself live this way? Why even try?"

What does he expect her to tell him? She could explain her vengeance in detail and he would not understand a word of it. Buffy's previous attempts have produced only blank stares or amusement. The latter generally results in a decapitation; she will not risk wanting to do that here. If even one understood...perhaps it would make a difference to the world. Or just as likely, not. She shrugs carelessly. Gives him the only answer she knows to give. "Because it's wrong."

**I am become Death**

Buffy knows before she enters. Her crypt is spartan, lacking even a cot. The floor is enough, when she is full. When she is not full, a bed is no help. The interloper has taken a seat by the refrigerator that, every now and then, holds blood. She goes on paging through one of Buffy's paperbacks, not looking up, though clearly she has heard the arrival. Most likely she does not realize whose space she is intruding on.

Calling it a fight would be too generous. Buffy has her by the arm before the other vampire can rise. She has never really understood how one knocks a vampire unconscious; she knows only that blows to the head work as they ought. Quite possibly the intruder never realizes she has been found before darkness claims her.

Buffy has contingencies for this sort of thing. A good crypt is hard to find, and vampires are not known for respecting each other's territories, save out of fear. Of course, the locals have long since stopped bothering her, but newcomers appear from time to time. And then there are other needs, too. Buffy chains her to the rectangular metal frame--once part of a bed--that she has adapted for this purpose. An older vampire might be able to break the cuffs, or the frame; Buffy certainly could. She can sense, though, that this one is young.

She retrieves a knife from her collection. Far too many of her weapons from before were left behind, after the change, but she has a few of them. Most have been confiscated from recent enemies. A handful are magical--the latest attempts to stop her have become increasingly imaginative--but for now all Buffy needs is a sturdy, jagged blade.

Buffy thrusts it into the base of the girl's neck, wrenching her awake with a cry of pain. Screams always give her that warm fuzzy sensation, although they're not exactly conversation. It's been a little while since Buffy had a chance to really talk with anyone. "Never got into Coleridge, myself, but I decided I had plenty of time now to figure him out." Buffy's tone is all smiles. And why not? She's not the one trapped. "Hope you enjoyed your reading. You won't be doing any more of it." She gives the blade a stout, downward tug that draws a thick, bloody line down the girl's shoulder.

The wails end, eventually. There's no use in inflicting more pain before then; best to enjoy each bite separately. "Buffy. I came. To help you." She tries not to sag in her chains, knowing pain will overpower any relief she might gain from rest. Buffy slides around the girl from the left, one brow raised in mild interest. "Angel asked me."

"Oooh. That's a good one." Buffy smirks, briefly and faintly. No one's tried to play the Angel card before.. "Too bad for you I don't need your help." Though the girl does remind her of Angel. She's got that earnest look to her, as though she were truly concerned. She always finds the concerned ones amusing. When she was human, they'd have torn out her throat if they could; now, suddenly, she's a sister they want to help. Hypocrites.

The intruder struggles to focus her thoughts, forcing the hard ridges to retreat from her forehead, withdrawing the fangs. "Swear it. Came to help. I know...you know me." But Buffy slides around to the right, taking the reddened blade in her hand with her. The face is familiar, but then...so what? Neither of them are the same people they were. Neither of them are people at all. With a grimace, Buffy grinds the knife deep into her captive's other shoulder.

"Someone like me knew someone like you. Once." The intruder fights not to convulse. Sometimes vampire strength is a liability. It would be possible to tear off her own arms. Buffy's seen that happen before, every once in a while. She's always wondered why the broken-off pieces don't turn to dust. "Ever wonder what decapitation really means? What the boundaries are? I do." She slices the blade down the softer tissues of the girl's back, beside her spine, stopping above a rib. "Can't say I know you. Don't particularly care to."

The intruder keeps trying, though. Buffy has to give her credit for stamina. "Don't...you feel it? Know you...feel it." Feel what? Compassion? Mercy? Pity? Someone's been reading Anne Rice again. Though an actual undead monster ought to know better.

She remembers who the face belongs to, now. What Buffy does feel is amusement--detached, ironic. "I remember you wanted to be a vampire once. Guess you figured it was freedom. Didn't stop to think about the rest." The knife digs, grinding against bone. "How nothing anyone does to you can matter. I could peel you like an apple. I could take you apart joint by joint. I could rip your clothes off and ride you till you're a mass of bruises. Not that you're my type, but hey...eternity, meet boredom." Serrated edges begin to saw. "Point is, you're not a person anymore. Just a thing. You're no one."

The rib snaps at its base, setting her to writhing no matter how hard she tries to stop. Drat. Buffy may have to give the girl's limbs time to reattach, and by then the rest of the healing will be done and they'll be back where they started. But the intruder damps her struggles to a shudder in time to prevent disaster. Her lips twitch as she struggles to draw breath. She still wants to talk? More credit, for now, but eventually Buffy will have to start marking her down for stupidity. "Got it back. My soul. Buffy...I'm really me. I'm Anne."

**Destroyer of Worlds**

Fascinating. Buffy favors her with a thin smile. Usually her play is not so interesting. "Now what could possibly have persuaded you to do that?" She tosses the knife onto the bookcase for now. Let the girl think she's getting somewhere. "Was it worth it? Cry yourself to sleep much? How are the nightmares?" Buffy can guess what it's like. She killed humans, once or twice, when she was one of them. Circumstances never matter.

"It was worth it. You, you don't understand...what's been happening...do you?" Anne tries to moisten her lips, but her tongue is just as dry. There's only so much fluid in a body. Sometimes Buffy wonders where all the blood goes. "Things are changing, Buffy. You can come home. I told you...we want to help."

"You want to make me suffer? You call that help?" She knows what Angel went through, and Spike after him. She's seen the misery. Misery is what Buffy inflicts...not what she experiences herself, or ever wants to. The knife whispers to her to resume the cutting. She wants to know.

"The sooner you come, Buffy, the less it hurts. We know you haven't killed anyone." The girl gives her a questioning look--not even whether it's still true, but merely how Buffy did it. As if that weren't obvious. "Would you believe Harmony started it? She actually begged Willow on her knees. Anything that would make her safe from you. After that, it...spread." As if Buffy didn't already know. "There's a dozen covens practically mass-producing those Orbs of what-do-you-call-it. It's not just that, either. Chad turns away fledges, and nine out of ten still don't make it through the challenges, but he's opening up a franchise in Mexico anyway. You'd be good publicity...it'd be a breeze for you. You really didn't know, did you?"

Buffy sighs and picks up the knife. "Is that what you think?" She remembers catching up to Drusilla at last. Those were good times. "You be in _me_ ," Buffy told her, and started with the eyes. Seven days, it took, before there was too little left of Dru to scream. Buffy shakes her head. "That I haven't noticed? You really believe I can't tell? I've known from the beginning."

Anne tries to draw away as the blade approaches her neck. "Please, Buffy. Don't you understand what you've done? We're more afraid of you than guilt. We're more afraid of you than hell." The serrations come to rest, whisper-light, across her spine from the incision already there. "You've won."

If she won...the fighting would be over. Buffy drives the blade deeper this time, piercing the larynx, shutting off all but whimpers. "And you want me to come get my prize. My soul." If she peels out the entire spine...does that count as a decapitation? "You're the one who doesn't understand." Perhaps when she severs the nerves that lead to the heart. Or will she get to slice away the vertebrae one by one? "Souls don't matter." Cutting downward, milking blood and sobs and terror. Buffy is still the Slayer. She'll always be the Slayer. Kill demons. Save the innocent. "I'm the proof."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This first chapter is posted as originally published. It was extensively revised and is now, to my mind, perfect. Subsequent chapters that were completed will take some time to revise--especially those originally published in script format. (It was a fad. I'm so sorry.)


	2. Damn Nation

Disclaimer: I am making not a penny from this. All characters belong to Joss/Mutant Enemy/whoever.

Rating: PG-13

Setting: Post-"Shadow Sun", roughly two years after "Chosen".

"I have no name in the regions which I inhabit," replied the voice, mournfully; "I was mortal, but am fiend. I was merciless, but am pitiful. "

-"The Premature Burial", Edgar A. Poe

Fighting evil just doesn't pay. But then, that's not why she does it.

Blond hair streaming behind her, she careens through the cemetery, dodging crumbling grey marble and the sagging branches of ill-placed trees. The latter are by far the more dangerous. A careless girl could stake herself on those. She has to not be careless. Not being careless is hard, though; impulsiveness is part of both her natures. A running leap carries her over the great bulk of a mausoleum, where she crumples to the ground, hidden from view. Moments later, her pursuers appear around the side, approaching more cautiously. She supposes they're afraid of her. It wouldn't be the first time she's been mistaken for something she's not.

She lashes out in a rising side kick, toppling the greasy-looking fellow on her left. Some people use being dead as an excuse to totally lose their fashion sense. This loser probably never had one to start with. She slams him and his lame-ass tie-dyed t-shirt against the mausoleum wall. "Where'd you get that thing? Wal-Mart? No way you were buried in it." Don't they bury guys in a suit and tie, even if they were some kind of trailer trash? He snarls back at her. "Look, stupid, if you're going to make trouble, you really ought to pick on a fledgeling or something. I'm a master vampire, you know." Well, sort of. "I'm way stronger and faster than..." Something hard slams into her back. She'd half-forgotten about the other two. Witty banter just takes up too much of her attention.

It could be worse. She's not falling apart in little bits of blow-away dust. It'd have been a crime to let this ensemble go that way, after all the trouble she went to. She spins around, keeping the greasy vampire locked in her grip. She's not totally stupid, after all; let him soak up the punches.

"Traitor," growls some chick with curly red hair. "You think having a soul makes you better than us, but you're just as much a monster as we are. You're just conflicted about it." She reverses the wooden club she's holding and drives a pointy end into the hostage who was her buddy five seconds ago. Well, so much for that strategy. "That makes you weak."

Aww...come on! "Hey! You have no idea how hard I've fought to get this soul and keep it." After the third time she had to go crawling back to Willow, whimpering about how much trouble and danger she was in, she finally had to ask people to stop giving gifts. Not being able to squeal over her latest bit of sparkly jewelry makes her miserable. If only that weren't the point. "If you're so tough, why don't you see how you handle one?" She holds her head up as proudly as she can manage with her hair full of scratchy twigs. "I've seen big mean football players stake themselves 'cause they can't handle an itty-bitty bit of guilt. Don't you get how totally lame that is? I mean, if I can manage one..." Harmony tries to put on a convincing sneer. These aren't terrified fledges scurrying from the new Big Bad...or is that Big Good? (It's awfully hard to tell.) They meant to kill her because they thought she was Buffy. Which makes them real idiots. Nobody can kill Buffy. And now that they've realized she's not Buffy, they want to kill her for having a soul, which is even dumber. Souls hurt. They hurt a lot. But they keep Buffy's stakes out of your heart. Better to be miserable than dusty.

She's let herself get distracted again. How does Buffy do it? Vampire number three thwacks her on the head with his own club. He's a shrimpy little geek. For a moment she's tempted to make fun of him, but he probably passes for the brains of this outfit. That's what geeks are good for, after all. Maybe she can persuade him to take on a soul. He lunges for her, grumbling something under his breath about cheerleaders. No fair! So she grabs his arm and slams him into the redhead. "C'mon, four-eyes. Like you said...cheerleader." Harmony leaps into an aerial flip; it's so much easier than when she was human. At the top of it she snaps off a pair of long, pointy branches hanging overhead. "You can't take a cheerleader with moves like that, loser." Now she's angry. Screw ensouling these morons, if they're going to insult her. She stakes the geek on the way down. She tries to stake the redhead, too, but the improvised weapon misses the heart and merely pins her to the ground. The girl lets out a whimpering sort-of snarl and struggles free, staring around as if expecting her stupid little gang to rematerialize.

Harmony's not really out to kill tonight. Not if she doesn't have to, anyway. Being a vampire is hard. Maybe the redhead will get that now. "Hey, look...you don't have to go on like this. I mean, it's no fun having a soul, but it's no fun being alone and having everyone hate you, either. Really...no hard feelings." She reaches out a hand. It's more of an offer than the girl deserves, but hey...forgiveness, right? And the more vampires with souls, the better.

The redhead promptly kicks her in the face. By the time Harmony picks herself up off the ground, she's scurrying away through the graveyard. Oh well. Maybe she'll think it over. Sometimes they do. Ugh...she's got to be such a mess now. Harmony pulls a hard little case out of her pocket and flips it open. The digital camera renders an image of her face. Scratches, bruises, stuff in her hair... Maybe she should get in on Andrew's little business venture while she can.

It'll pay more than fighting evil.

*****

Giles had spent his life preparing for the death of his Slayer. All Watchers did. But somewhere along the line, he'd forgotten that training. He'd determined that he was not going to allow Buffy to die. Nor did he. The trouble, he supposes, is that death rarely seems to wait for one's permission.

The ghastly discovery that Buffy was not simply dead-that she was the first Slayer to be turned in perhaps a thousand years-had given him a sort of undefinable hope. Intellectually, he knew that the walking corpse was not...could not truly be Buffy. But, then, didn't the tales explain why such turnings were rare? That vampires knew the power that could result, and feared it? Perhaps, somehow, the Slayer nature lived on in some form...modified the demon...made it possible for it to serve the cause of good. That would explain Buffy's...the vampire's subsequent actions.

He might even have wanted to believe that-once, years before, when he'd been fresh from the Council and determined that Buffy would do as she was told like every other Slayer. Now, though...only Buffy, only the real Buffy can give him relief from his sorrow. And she never will.

Giles leafs cautiously through Planchard's Guide to the Spirits, careful lest he mar a page or blot the ink with his sweat. If it were truly Buffy...surely she would never resist the ensoulment. That she does so demonstrates as false what he already knows to be impossible. The creature with Buffy's face can never be Buffy. Not truly, not ever again. Even if they find the secret, wear down her shields, her body will always be cold; she will always share it with the demon that animates her form. Perhaps forever. None of their efforts to destroy her came near succeeding, not even once.

He sighs and puts the book aside. Another false lead. He has no time for this, not really. He'd always had difficulties with Quentin Travers, but the man's impersonal style had served a purpose. No one could lead an organization of such size without some measure of detachment; Travers had simply carried it too far. Giles cannot devote infinite time to any one individual. Not even to Buffy.

Giles needs numbers. Ideally, every Slayer should have a Watcher...a guide, a trainer, a confidant. But the order lies in ruins now, and even if it did not there were many members that he would never have wished on any girl. He has spent two years tracking down those he can trust and struggling to recruit new ones, but the former are difficult to find and the latter require almost as much training as Slayers themselves. There is simply too much to do.

He gets up to pace around the office. Wesley's office, not so terribly long ago. The Hyperion is quiet this time of night, the twenty or so Slayers-in-training who reside here patrolling or asleep. Willow tells him often that he does not sleep enough. He is only human, after all, and needs his rest. But sleep brings dreams...nightmares that, having filtered through into reality, return distorted to his unconscious mind.

On his second pass, the doorway has a woman standing in it. Giles stops, fumbling for words. "The door was unlocked," she informs him in a light tone. "I understand Angel Investigations helps the helpless?"

"It did. When it was located here. I'm afraid it's been closed down for three years." If not for that, this could be the classic opening of a detective novel, complete with femme fatale-albeit one not so slender or long-legged as the norm. Her shape, a bit fleshier than that, conforms more to older notions of beauty than to the modern, pencil-thin model. Wavy black hair has been pulled back into a loose braid almost to her waist. A disappointed frown crinkles her olive-brown face...but fails to truly touch her eyes.

"That's a real shame. I suppose I'll have to settle for the new headquarters of the Watchers' Council, then. Mister Rupert Giles, I presume?"

Startled, he offers her a hand, which she ignores. "I'm curious how you obtained the advantage of me. But yes, I am he. Please...take a seat." Watchers have been filtering in over the course of months, but this woman resembles none of the people in his files. Of course, the Council has always had its shadier operatives...but he has no real wish to take them on, and has not attempted to contact them. Their functions were typically darker than he has any desire to revive.

He resumes his own seat behind the desk, looking up to see she has taken this offer, at least. "Sadha Kaur," she informs him, her tone pleasant, if a little curt. "I'm afraid I left the Council after the death of my Slayer. I try to keep tabs, however, as far as possible." He knows precisely how far that is-not very-but it explains her presence, at least. And his name, at least, is known, odd though it is that she recognizes his face.

"Then I understand your pain...ah, Ms. Kaur. Some traditions, however well-intended, are difficult to keep. I must admit, however, that I do not recall encountering your name in my researches, which have been rather extensive of late. I had thought that I knew the names of all surviving Watchers who have mentored a Slayer." His hand goes to the cabinet in his desk, thoughtfully. Perhaps he has simply missed her file somehow.

Sadha sighs gently. "It has been some time, I suppose. She died during the Third Rakshasa Uprising. After that...well, it simply wasn't possible for me to carry on." Her left hand worries at a strand of beads hanging around her neck, and she smiles as if at a small joke. "I became very, very upset with the Council."

It's his turn to frown now, though not with disappointment. "I don't see how that can be, Ms. Kaur. I'm quite certain that the Third Rakshasa Uprising happened in 1804. Or did I misunderstand you?" Giles bends down over the file drawer, seeking not papers but a weapon, just in case. There have been impostors seeking positions with him lately; one, even, that he hired after the deception was revealed. Regrettable, but some degree of skullduggery, he supposes, will always be a necessity of his calling.

"No, I believe you understood me," she states, with just a hint of lisp. Giles groans. The Hyperion is still a place of public accomodation. "I'm quite dead."

*****

Negotiating. Who would have believed it?

Chao-Ahn struggles with the instinct warning her to lash out with the stakes in her belt loops. Another layer of sensation is telling her there is no need, but even that layer seems incredulous somehow. Ten vampires with souls, all in one room...she might as well expect to meet a dragon. But then, she reminds herself, she's seen one of those too.

"Surely you understand why we need to watch your movements," she begins in French. Not knowing English has always been an embarrassment to her, and so she has tried very hard, but the language is filled with contradictions and inconsistencies. How the Americans manage with it, she has no idea. If only France had kept Louisiana, it would have been so much easier for her in North America. Mr. Giles had gone an amusing shade of red when he discovered she was fluent. But what kind of fool did he think she was, to speak only one language when she grew up in Hong Kong?

"Of course!" snaps the light-haired woman to her left. "Naturally you must treat us like dangerous animals, after all that we went through to make you safe!" Soul or no soul, her demon visage struggles forward, a sign of anger. Ironic, that the young ones are so much more prone to that than the old. Short unlives of mostly following orders have left many of them relatively little guilt. Only one of those here has spent more than fifty years among the undead.

"I heard that it was to save yourselves," Chao-Ahn responds, "not for us at all." Believing the intense young woman from California has sent these ripples through the underworld is easy. So driven, so confident. It was imagining Buffy failing at anything that was difficult. Somehow, she must have failed, or she would be alive. "I thank you for it anyway, but yes, you are still dangerous."

The swarthy man on her right shrugs. "We did not seek out souls so that we could spend eternity in fear of you." His temper is more even, though she hears the tension in his voice. "Obviously we had hoped we would be safe. That you would trust us, now. Sooner or later the others, the unsouled, will turn on us, when they believe the danger to them has eased. We will need protection like anyone else."

Chao-Ahn shakes her head. "If only it were that simple. You have the proof that it is not." She glances at the blanketed figure lurking in the back of the room. "You still require blood to live. You still have the impulses that drive you to feed on us. We are pleased that you choose not to, but even humans kill at times, soul or no soul."

"Well, that much is clear," the woman mutters. "What about your impulses? You can't tell me you don't want to stick those things in our hearts. Don't deny it...you want us dead."

"You are dead," Chou-Ahn says softly, though not unkindly. "But you are not totally wrong. I merely point out that we have reason to fear each other, and offer ways to ease that fear, for both of our kinds' sakes."

The light-haired woman seems on the verge of offering another rejoinder, but frightened babbling erupts from the back of the room. Perhaps one day Chao-Ahn will grow used to seeing concern on a vampire's face, ridges or no ridges, but not today. "Just a moment," the woman says instead, and rises. Chao-Ahn waits patiently. She should feel no pity...but she does.

Determining a vampire's age is not an exact science, but from the corrugations on the forehead of the woman cowering against the wall, she might be as little as a century from losing her human face entirely. Far older than the others, their sire has no doubt bathed some corner of the world in blood-from elapsed time spent feeding, if nothing else. She huddles there, clutching wrinkled blankets so tightly that the pleats dig grooves in her flesh. Perhaps the physical pain is even a relief. Among the English words Chao-Ahn has learned to recognize are "sorry", "mercy", and "please"; she hears them over and over, now, mixed with a garble of other sounds that mean nothing to her. The vampires stroke their elder's back, her forehead, murmuring soothing words as if to a child. Chao-Ahn considers handing out a little mercy of her own. But would that make her no different from them?

Finally the blond woman returns to her seat. "Buffy did this to her," she intones. "She was more afraid of Buffy than...than this. Have you given any thought to that? My sire could tear you limb from limb, Slayer or not. Ask yourself what could possibly terrify her into going through with this...and then ask yourself how you can call what Buffy does good."

"I don't," Chao-Ahn answers, slightly embarrassed. "I won't make apologies for Buffy. She's...not our kind any more, though. She's yours." The response draws glares, and Chao-Ahn backs down a little. "Well, not only our kind. But everything your sire is going through now is far less than what she's earned. I admit to feeling sorry for her anyway, but she made her own decision, and now she has to live with it." A pause. "I won't stop her from living with it. For whatever that's worth to you."

The man takes a deep breath. "And we've made the decision to care for her. We couldn't endanger humans if we wanted to, not while she's like this. Elsbet takes up too much of our time for that."

Chao-Ahn nods. "I understand. But you need to understand as well. It's normal and natural for humans to be afraid of you. Most people can't tell you have souls. Even many Slayers can't." The vampires sigh resignedly; they recognize this as true. "The world is changing, and humans need time to adjust. We need...space," she concludes. "Space to breathe."

The blond vampire snarls, rising from her seat. Chao-Ahn begins to reach for a stake-she might be able to escape, at least-but the vampire paces away from her across the room. Several of the others turn to glare. Chao-Ahn frowns in confusion. Surely the pun wasn't _that_ bad.

*****

Beep. Beep. Beep.

The slow, steady cadence that divides life from death.

Gabriel doesn't need the overlay as humans do. He can hear the sound it was meant to represent, the steady thud of Michelle's heartbeat. He can hear the shallow wheeze of her breathing, too, and smell the fragrance of her sluggish blood, and see the heat that emanates from her body.

If only he could hear more. If only he could hear her speak.

They tell him her prognosis is poor. Despite the popular depictions of coma patients awakening after years of unconsciousness, those events are rare. Generally speaking, such people die never having opened their eyes again, never realizing what's become of them. It's not in any way fair, Gabriel thinks. To waste away like this...to wake, if at all, in a body years older, in a world perhaps changed beyond recognition. Michelle has been here for five years. It could be worse, of course. And almost certainly, it will.

All that time, he left her here. Never once bothered to look at her face, or kiss her forehead, or leave tears on her face. The doctors have accepted-reluctantly-his tale of amnesia, a peculiar ailment that can behave in unexpected ways. None of it is true, though. He knew the woman he'd loved was here. He just didn't care.

In that time, Gabriel had met vampires who were capable of love...or at least something that resembled it. Most often, among their own kind, usually between sire and spawn. Every now and then, affection for a human. Typically such attraction ended in the human being turned...but it was there. Otherwise, why transform one's lunch at all? He hadn't been among them, though. He'd woken to realize that his lover no longer meant more to him than any other warm, in this case rather tasteless, meal.

Oh, he'd given some thought to turning her. It was what his own sire had intended, after all. If not for the chance arrival of police-a misinformed drug raid-she might have been with him already. Instead, she'd been left for dead, lying there on the couch, just another discarded lunch wrapper. There were always other interesting humans to change, and being shot could hurt. And in the end, he'd decided the same thing his sire had. She wasn't worth the effort.

Gabriel wonders, now, if something had always been wrong with their love that caused it not to last. Was it so imperfect, so impure with guilt, that the loss of guilt erased it? Could it be that such things were determined by the human personality too? Or was it merely a function of the exact nature of each demon that occupied the body? He knows which one he prefers to believe. If only he could convince himself it was the truth.

He runs a finger along the curve of her lips, avoiding the feeding tube. The nurses come in from time to time, trying to keep her muscles stimulated...just in case she ever needs them again. Too much wasting away could mean her death, as well. They wouldn't want that. Losing a patient, no matter what the cause or circumstances, looks bad on their records. Wouldn't do to be sued for malpractice. Gabriel brushes his lips against the unblinking lids of her eyes. But this is not a fairy tale.

Can "sorry" make up for five years of neglect? Does it matter that she would never have known he was here? Can it really make so much of a difference that he wasn't himself? It must not, he realizes. Else it would make the same difference to the ones he's killed.

Gabriel holds her limp, warm hands in his cold, dextrous ones. He can feel the bones through her flesh. Her skin's pallor leaves it all but translucent...not so different from his own, really.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

It's only a heartbeat that lies between them, after all. Gabriel contemplates the machines that hold her here on the brink of life, and hates them for it. They can never heal her. He unclenches the fist he's made of his left hand, fingernails digging into his palm. Not sanitary, not at all. Especially not in a hospital, among the sick. Gabriel smooths the curly hair away from his love's waxen forehead, wishing her eyes could see his face. He clasps her hand, seeking forgiveness, if she can grant it to a thing like himself. He brushes his fingers along her lips once more.

And gently feeds her death.

*****

Kennedy never warms the bed much. It's her metabolism, Willow supposes, slow for a Slayer. If Slayer powers have anything to do with metabolism. They never did figure that one out. Maybe she should try...but later. Right now she just wants to get out from under the cold sheets and get some breakfast.

She pads down the hall in her pjs. Most of the Slayers are in by now, sleeping. The sun may not have reached all the way down the long canyons to street level yet, but it's up. There are demons about, of course, but most of them aren't the sort that humans have to be afraid of. Those prefer the darkness. Easier to hunt at night. Willow hears sleepy grunts, mumbled complaints, a few snores. Slayers dream an awful lot. Part of the package. Kennedy's always waking her up with sleeptalk.

The offices downstairs are quiet; she starts to check voice mail for messages and sees a post-it note stuck to the fridge. Naturally. One day Giles is going to have to get the hang of voice mail, or they're all going to wake up dead. She means the thought as a joke, but it won't come out that way; her incipient smile turns upside down. Willow knows they could, in fact, wake up dead. Just like Buffy. Kinda takes the humor out of it.

Giles has gone out on business. That's all the note says. What kind of business would be nice to know...but they really don't need to, and if they did, at least he's probably taken a cell phone. Even Giles manages to move with the times, if not as fast as the rest of them. She supposes he's found another Watcher to bring into the fold. They're always in need of Watchers. Desperately in need, Willow admits to herself. There are times when she wishes she could take the spell back. But she's tried that, and the genie is out of the bottle for good. Not to mention what might just happen if it worked, and left only one Slayer; Willow suspects she knows who'd be left standing.

She ponders her options briefly and comes down in favor of ordinary cereal. Not the best start to a day, but Willow doesn't feel like cooking now. She can be perky later; right now she just feels sluggish and sleepy. Normally she doesn't wake this early, and for a moment she wonders what might have jolted her out of dreamland. But it was probably just Kennedy again.

Willow thinks Kennedy loves her, she really does. But, munching on her Weet-a-Bix, it's hard to say for sure that Willow loves her back. There's affection, no question, but not like with Tara, or even Oz. Kennedy is pushy. Kennedy is loud. Kennedy is obnoxious. And Willow has learned to tolerate these things, because she knows how valuable the relationship has been to her. The other woman helped her find her way back from the darkness after Tara's death, back to solid footing and usefulness to her friends. But those days...they're long over.

They'd argued again last night about Buffy. Kennedy just doesn't see what she sees-that Buffy, even if she can somehow manage to mean well, has gone much too far. From Kennedy's perspective, a demon is a demon, and it doesn't matter why Buffy kills them. Or how. Evil is evil, and that makes what Buffy does good. If she enjoys it...so much the better for her. It's a remarkably Faithlike perspective-the old Faith, the Faith who ended up working for Mayor Wilkins. And far too many of the new Slayers seem to agree with it.

Willow's seen what Buffy does, though, and Kennedy hasn't. Willow was there when Buffy...rescued her. At first it was easy to be angry at the vampire who'd caught her from behind and nearly sucked the life out of her. At first. But Buffy didn't stake him. Didn't twist his head off, or set him on fire. She dug her fingers under the creature's skin and began to eviscerate him, organ by organ. Humans could die from a great many things. Vampires, not so much. Willow knew every piece that Buffy pulled out of him-dried and desiccated, they were so much more like the pictures in an anatomy book than squishy living organs would have been. His liver. His lungs. His heart. And more and more, while he began to wail in agony and plead for death, while Buffy sneered into his face and told him his pain was illusion, everything he felt was a lie. Killer had become victim, then; predator had become prey. And Willow's fear of him had turned to horror for him. Even a little sympathy, before the end. She'd driven a pencil into his discarded heart, and done it out of mercy. And Buffy had glared at her as if Willow were an ungrateful piece of filth and stalked away.

Never mind that the vampire was a dead, soulless thing. He'd felt pain, felt fear, and Willow could never again believe otherwise. Kill them? Yes, when it had to be done. And it did have to be done, numbingly often. But torture them? No...not ever. Not ever again. So how can she love someone who can shrug off what Buffy does as harmless?

Willow has finished her cereal. She'd barely even tasted it. Not unusual, for someone so easily lost in thought. But probably not a good thing, either. There are all those studies on habitual eating and obesity and...

Something is scraping at the door. Or thumping, very very softly. It could be a cat, or a small puppy; there are way too many discarded pets in the city. It could be something else, too, something a lot less friendly. For some reason, the urban legend springs to her mind about the girl hiding in her car while her hanged boyfriend's shoes thump against its roof.

But it's daylight, now, and even if that daylight hasn't quite made it down to ground level there aren't going to be vampires roaming the city now. Not more than one or two, and certainly not scratching at the door of Slayer Central. Except maybe one of the handful of ensouled vampires that they know for sure is an ally. Harmony, maybe. Or Anne.

That doesn't make the slow thumping any less creepy.

She peers out the peephole and sees nothing. But the faint noise continues from the other side. So, keeping a eensy defensive spell on her lips, she whips the door open, ready for anything imaginable. Which, for her, is an awful lot.

Still nothing, for just an instant. And then something rolls against her feet and she looks down.

Willow begins to scream.

*****

Lois O'Neil knows for a fact that vampires can love, whatever foolishness some humans believe. She loves her job. She loves her bar. Oh, maybe she doesn't love all her clientele, the less so in recent months, but she's fond enough of them too, and fond enough of the money they bring in that she's not planning to keep anyone out. An ensouled vampire's cash is still cash, after all.

There are a good deal more of them, too. Ordinary vampires come to a place like this to relax; hunting is fun, but one doesn't _always_ want to exert oneself for a meal. But the ensouled are stupidly squeamish. Like vegetarians, she thinks, they can't stand the thought of eating anything that moves around. They differ in what they can put up with; some will take bagged human blood (often without asking where she got it), while others feel free to feed on "evil" humans, and still others-the lowest, in her mind-will drink only from animals. Last month she accepted her first shipment of dog blood, which is not so foul as pig, let alone rat, but far from otter, something of an occasional delicacy even for the unsouled. Otter is simply too hard to get ahold of, sadly, at least for a small operator like herself. She'd rather not purchase the disgusting stuff at all...well, otter, maybe, if she could find it cheap enough...but the customer is always right, and there's no profit these days in being a bigot.

Someone always makes money off chaos, though. The bar is lined with poor unhappy sots struggling to stay afloat under the massive weight of guilt they've brought on themselves, and the tables too, and the booths are filled with slightly higher-quality customers plotting out some way of making their own profit off the mess, along with a few demonic minions-Fyarl, mostly. It's almost enough to make Lois forgive that sire-killing Slayer bitch Buffy Summers. No one seems entirely certain who it was that turned the girl, but everyone agrees the fool is dead. Must have been off his rocker, Lois supposes. Nothing good ever came of turning Slayers. Except, in Lois' case, a tidy sum.

If this keeps up, she realizes, she'll soon be able to buy one of those new-fangled tap contraptions that draw off the blood and heat it. Rumor had it the blueprints had come out of Sunnydale too, a few years back, albeit a bit modified. Lois' lips twitch at the thought of restoring the original specs and filling taps off live humans. The poor devils here would never guess, and she'd really be doing them a favor. Live blood is so much healthier in the long run. Too much risk of giving them back a taste for the good stuff, though. They might go off hunting on their own again. She shakes her head and goes on filling glasses.

The doors swing open, admitting a foul odor of alcohol and other noxious chemicals. Lois sighs as the scent's owner follows it inside. Not so much for the nasty smell-which would be bad enough on its own-as for her sire. A hundred-fifty years of bloodshed and destruction, and in the end it all comes down to this. One damned girl in all the world. Hundreds of Slayers had been bad enough, though fortunately they seemed ill-trained, but everyone lived with the possibility of ending as dust and always had. The real risk is in not ending, in spending weeks or months or-who knew?-maybe even years in misery first.

Lois searches briefly for an empty spot before shooing a fresh-faced girl with too high a running tab from her stool. Respect for one's sire-up to a point, anyway-makes the world go round. Though sometimes the best respect one can offer a sire is to show you've outgrown him. "Eddie," she calls, "over here, hon." Edwin is still so much faster than her, so much stronger. Always will be, barring training rather too intense for her tastes. He shambles over to the cleared seat with a grateful look on his face, clutching his jacket tight around him as if he were cold. It might be kinder to put him out of his misery, but for now she still owes him too much. And he owes her a bit too much, too. Maybe if he ever manages to pay up.

Eddie fumbles about with the box of napkins to no obvious purpose. "G'd evenin', Lo'." From the scent, she'd say he's had a little too much wine. She never drinks wine, not seeing the point in becoming drunk and not particularly liking the taste. They said one had to acquire such things, and Lois had never really cared to. It doesn't really matter what she does any more-she'd said her prayers in life and her soul is perfectly safe with Jesus now-but she prefers to be fully aware of the mayhem she's causing. Odd, though...he doesn't sound drunk.

"Lemme get you a glass, Eddie. We've got plenty of dog on hand. Or horse, if you'd rather...it's a little fuller." What a waste he's become, the man who taught her everything she needed to know. Bloodshed. Chaos. Oh, and the joy of old monster movies. Eddie knew the greats backward and front. Boris Karloff...Bela Lugosi...Lon Cheney. Eddie had shown her that, for all the expense of modern special effects, the old masters of the genre were the ones who truly understood what they represented. She doubts now that he could so much as be roused to complain about the travesty of "Nightmare on Elm Street". He's simply too far gone.

To her surprise, Eddie smiles at her. "Ac'shally...I think, j'st this once, you sh'ld get me an AB." Diffidently, but with more confidence than he's shown in...well, far too long. "J'st this one time, that is. I, um..." He drops his head again, sighing. "Even if you killed 'em, I'm not hurtin' em anymore, right?"

She stares at him for a moment before fetching a glass. Maybe he's recovering. A fool thought-they never really recover, not the good parts at least-but just maybe. At least enough to stop moping about and do something with his unlife. "Here you go. Drink up, hon. This'll fix you up proper, not like that glop you've been on."

Eddie takes a hesitant sip, and his face lights up. How long has it been since he so much as showed a fang? "Yer right, Lo'. This's the good stuff." He swallows it down like the ambrosia it is. "Can't get 'way from it, can we?"

"Course we can't, Eddie." She pats him on the shoulder. Some sires would never allow such familiarity, but Eddie'd always taken great pleasure in observing his spawn. "It's in our nature, you know. You shouldn't fight it so hard." He'd told her he liked to change all different kinds of people-rich and poor, good and evil, old and young-to see what the transformation made of them. There were always similiarities and differences, naturally, and it seemed impossible to predict the degree. He himself had been a "freethinker" in England in life, though he'd never quite given up belief in God. For him it had been more a matter of fashion than real conviction, and he'd especially enjoyed seeing what became of people with strong faith of any kind. She'd been a Baptist herself...actually, supposes the other part of her still is, as far as such things matter in the afterlife. "Besides, hon...it's way too late for us to go changing now, isn't it?"

Eddie just nods and finishes his drink, not looking so enthused anymore. He'd never wanted to change before; none of them had. It was this whole unnatural mucking about with souls and black magic that made them want that. "S'pose it is. Way, way too late." Now that his glass is empty, he seems to be sinking back into melancholy, but when she moves to refill it he blocks her. "Had enough, Lo'." She doubts that, but lets him be.

"Will you be staying a spell, then? I've missed seeing you around here. Vanessa and Curt would be glad to talk to you too." They're his spawn, too, both a few years younger than her. They tend more toward the violent kills, but every now and then the four of them had gotten together here to shoot the breeze. There's still such a thing as friendship, after all.

"Don't 'spect to leave here t'night, Lo'." Eddie shakes his head, and for the first time lets his jacket fall open a little. Lois' eyes go wide. She could run for it, but maybe she'd have a better chance trying to rip the wires loose...not that she knows the first thing about what she's seeing. No telling how much he's got packed in there. "I really am sorry." He palms a sort of button-trigger out of his left sleeve. He's always been faster than her. His thumb tightens on the button. "But we belong dead."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alterations to this chapter are fairly trivial. I adjusted a few word choices. Some of the prose seems a little purple to me now as compared to my original perspective, but I have an ongoing problem with coming back to stories and being unhappy with them even when they're fine. I need a new beta, really.


	3. What Puzzles the Will

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Gruesome imagery and self-harm.

Disclaimer: None of the characters (except Sadha Kaur) belong to me. Don't stress...the big guy lets us play with them.

Characters: Ensemble (most everyone who's still around is here now--still no Xander, Angel, or Andrew). Including Anne and the new character Sadha Kaur.

Rating: PG-13 (contains some fairly disturbing images--gruesome injury, self-harm)

Setting: Post-"Shadow Sun"

One who excels in shutting uses no bolts, yet what he has shut cannot be opened.  
One who excels in tying uses no cords, yet what he has tied cannot be undone.  
Therefore the sage always excels in saving people, and so abandons no one,  
Always excels in saving things, and so abandons nothing.

\--Tao te Ching XXVII

 

One thing is for certain: Caritas is no Willy's Place. All the same, Giles prefers dining where the patrons' faces bear less resemblance to the pizza.

"As if you should talk," Ms. Kaur informs him. "Humans survive in spite of lacking a sense of smell. Vampires survive in spite of having one." All right...granted. Considering what he _can_ smell, he supposes she has a point. Although....

"I was under the impression that much of what smells foul to us is pleasant to you." Why else live in crypts and sewers? Surely not for the associations alone.

"Some of it," she allows. "The scents of blood and of decay. Not all. And some of the things you enjoy, we find unpleasant--and far more intense. You really have no idea how lucky you are, Mr. Giles. Or how unlucky." She looks around, exposing a curious set of fine scars across her neck. "You say you know the proprietor here? Very upscale, as demon bars go."

"Clem has come up in the world since leaving Sunnydale," he shrugs. "Though apparently his management skills leave something to be desired. I admit to helping him out from time to time; worse things could be in charge than he." A pity that Lorne seems to have vanished since his last job for Angel. Perhaps, Giles speculates, he went home to Pylea. No doubt it would be safer for him there.

Sadha nods idly. "So I've heard. Don't mention my name to any Carcharo demons, by the way." Lowering her voice conspiratorially, she adds, "Most of the bars I've been in insist we acknowledge debts our other selves incurred, and I'm afraid I'm short of kittens at the moment."

"As you like." Inwardly, he winces, though objectively speaking, what demons do with kittens is among the least of their vices. "Shall we cut to the chase, Ms. Kaur? I'm not at all certain why I should take you on."

"Why not?" The vampire affects a surprised tone--yet clearly she has anticipated his objections. "I'm given to understand your numbers are dangerously low...sir...and that the same is true of your average recruit's level of experience. Which I can certainly provide. How many of your Watchers, prior to yourself, actually mentored a Slayer for any length of time?" She holds out her hands, waggling outstretched fingers. "Shall I count out the number?"

Higher than you can account for that way, he considers answering--but only if one counts those whose girls lasted a matter of months or less, and he does not. True, not all of those were simple failures, but he has no way of being sure how many. "The fact remains, Ms. Kaur, that you are what you are." He plows on, overriding her attempt to speak. "I am as relieved as anyone to imagine the possibility of peace, at long last, yet I cannot allow myself to hope blindly. Remember your own training. When I arrived in Sunnydale, I had never heard of a vampire with a soul. Granted that I knew of certain relatively harmless species of demon, my loyalties were to humanity, and essentially uncomplicated. The mere existence of Angel changed that, and not for the better. Simply by being what he was, he forced me, and more importantly my Slayer, to hesitate. There were no others like him--as far as we knew, at least--and yet there was no way to be certain. Nor could we be certain of him, either, as we learned to our regret." Giles allows himself a brief shudder, recalling what he had suffered at Angelus' hands--both in his own person, and for the harm done to others. "The spread of ensoulment does not simplify our task, Ms. Kaur. It complicates it...immensely."

Her eyes sweep over him, considering, while the rest of her remains utterly still. "It's not that you don't trust me, then," she says at last. "Not personally. You believe that having a vampire as Watcher will muddle a Slayer's loyalties, force her to pause and question when she needs to act." He begins to nod--she understands--and she continues rapidly, her voice gone suddenly hard. "You want them to behave as Buffy does now. Slay first and ask questions later. Kill them all and let the Powers that Be sort them out. Is that it?"

She stops there, abruptly, to let him choke out an answer. "Of course not. But..." Her hand brings him to a halt.

"And you have no girls who are like that already? None who would benefit from being forced to hesitate, even if only for a moment?" A waiter places their glasses on the table and, for a wonder, she seems to ignore hers completely. "Give me your worst, your hardest cases. Let me give them something to question. One way or another, they will have to deal with souls, Rupert. Don't you think they should listen to their own?"

Giles grips his glass hard and takes a soothing swallow of wine. "Your point is taken. One way or another, they'll have to make these distinctions, and best they learn to do so as soon as possible." With a sigh, he adds, "It's a very fine line to walk, Ms. Kaur."

She lifts her own glass, studying it dubiously, and drinks. "Don't I know it."

Giles nods sympathetically. "As I alluded to before, we have been effectively at war for a very long time. In war...everyone ends by doing things they're not proud of. Assuming they're lucky enough not to become proud of them." And elaborating on that is a subject he prefers to leave for a later time, even with a fellow Watcher. "How is your drink?"

"Crisp." She sighs. "A little flat. Your basic blood-drive B-negative." Giles blinks, taking off his glasses. A little polishing would be useful. "You'll approve even less when I say I miss the taste of fear. Just a bit."

"Generally speaking," Giles opines, "I've found the drinking of human blood to be a bad idea, even when no one is directly harmed. Are you planning to make your Slayer aware of this habit?"

"I don't see any point keeping secrets, unless I think she'll stab me in my sleep. As for the risk of acquiring a taste, would you happen to know that when you were a teenager, human placental meat was something of a fad here in the States?" Sadha makes a broad gesture with her glass. "I'm not aware of any human restaurants that have begun serving Soylent Green, though."

The cleaning hasn't helped at all. Giles replaces his glasses. "It doesn't bother you, then?"

"Rupert--is it all right if I call you Rupert? Call me Sadha, please--I once slit the throat of a thirteen-year-old boy and watched him bleed to death to break his ritual summoning and prevent his dark masters from erupting onto the Earth. Yes, I was human at the time. As you said, in war we all do things we're not proud of. This--" She drains her drink. "--is not one of them. Does it matter so much? The war can end, Rupert. I want to help you end it. Once that's done, people like ourselves can...become obsolete."

He takes a deep breath. "That would be a relief for all of us, I think...Sadha. May I ask..?" He gestures vaguely at her neck. "Those look to be one of the less-pleasant things you've experienced."

Sadha grins at him, half-tamed wolf to sheep. "Initiation ritual. If you've never met a _penanggalan_ , I'll have to tell you about it one day. And no, not pleasant. Not pleasant at all."  
********  
Dawn sits cross-legged on the bed and watches the pencil twirl in front of her. Some things are hard to study...and some aren't. She gets the words, all the different languages of magic. Meditation? Not so easy. Maybe she's just no good at sitting still and being quiet. Might explain why she has less trouble so early in the morning.

Three peremptory raps on the door, and suddenly the pencil is embedded in the ceiling. Only one person knocks like that. And Dawn is the only one Illyria knocks for. She doesn't wait for Dawn to answer, though. The blue-skinned woman strides into the room, the image of arrogance. Maybe Dawn should call her Smurfette again.

Illyria glances upward, taking in the results of her surprise entrance. "You are beyond this." Dawn winces. It would be much easier if Illyria treated her the way she treats everyone else.

"No," she says. "No, I'm really not. Giles says I need to take it slow. He's not making the mistake with me he made with Willow."

"He fears you. Willow is a spark beside your conflagration. I stirred in my slumber to feel you crack the plenum." Illyria cocks her head, that all-purpose gesture of distance between them. "This shell is unbecoming of you."

"Dawn Summers is not a shell. Dawn Summers is me. I don't even know if the Key could think."

"Thought is too small a word to encompass us," Illyria mutters. "We are greater than flickers of energy in a mass of protoplasm. You are--if not a god--the power of a god. The closest thing in this realm I have to a peer."

"Well," says Dawn, "if this is peer pressure, I think I'm gonna just say no. Okay? Cracking the...the plenum once is enough for me. Now did you come in here for a reason?"

If she were anyone else, Illyria might react badly. Like snapping-your-spine badly. For The Key, she shrugs irritably. "Your father does not speak to you. Your mother is dead. Your sister is beyond help. Why do you continue to value this shell? Why do you go on?"

Beyond help? The image of pencils embedded in the demon's eyes flickers through Dawn's mind briefly. Best to take her seriously and get rid of her, though. "This is my life. That's what life is for, not that you would know that. You live it. You find people you care about and you help them. You make the world a better place. I guess I'm not surprised you don't understand that, though. Buffy used to shove things like you back into the hellmouth on a semi-annual basis. Want me to take a crack at it?"

Illyria looks...wistful? "It would be gratifying to see you try. But nothing of my world remains for me. You are aware of that. For a time, I believed that perhaps I could come to care for Wesley, or Charles. Now they, too, are no more. If I could break this shell, discard its memories, and be what I was, I would do so gladly. I cannot."

Dawn stands up on the bed to retrieve her pencil. "Dunno what you expect me to do about it. Thanks for telling me you're really still evil, though."

Frustrated hissing. "Evil and good are words. You evade my questions. How do you live in this world when all that you cared about has gone? Is that why you allowed Connor to take you to the movies?"

"I needed a break. Humans do that to keep from overheating. Tell me this isn't turning into you asking me about boys, because, y'know...ten-thousand-year-old demon? That's just weird."

"Then you care nothing about him." Illyria's voice deepens to a rasp. "I remember everything about your world, and understand none of it. Small wonder...you do not even understand yourselves." Moving languourously across the room--it doesn't look like pacing, but Dawn isn't so sure--she adds quietly, "I inform Alexander that he reminds me of the most important human in my recent existence, and he reacts with indignation. I--"

"Wait...you told Xander he reminds you of _Wesley_?" In spite of herself, Dawn begins to giggle, drawing a glare. "Sorry. Look, when we knew Wesley he was a totally incompetent, self-important geek. You're lucky Xander didn't hit you, or rig your ceiling to fall in, or something."

"He would not dare."

"Okay, you're probably right there. You...liked Wesley?" It's a ridiculous notion. She's talking to an _Old One_. An ex-tentacled monster who didn't just kill the girl whose body she's wearing, but erased her, turned her into nothing at all.

"He was important to the shell. I...inherited many of Fred's emotions. And he aided me in adjusting to this age."

Crazy. Still...it did fit a pattern. Demons. Xander. Dawn sighs and cradles her face in her hands. "Odds are you remind Xander of Anya, too. Rebounds...usually a bad idea, but if you insist on trying...." She could derail this whole train now. Still...maybe Illyria deserves a little rejection. There has to be _something_ that can crack that ego. "Try out 'queen' and 'goddess', okay? No need to freak him out even more."

Smurfette bristles. "Gender is no part--" A piercing scream cuts across whatever she was about to say...followed by what sounds like a very detailed, if indistinct, call for help.

"Groan. Willow's got trouble. We'll talk about this later, Illyria. Don't make any moves without asking me first." She's almost surprised when the demon runs out of the room at her side.  
********  
Snuggling against her girl, Kennedy breathes in the warm sea air. She could get used to this. Which would be dangerous...cruises are expensive. Once a year is more than enough.

Someone jostles their seat. This crowd is insane. How'd the ship get so overbooked anyway? Not that she's complaining--there are women milling around all over the deck, almost all fit and trim, most of them hot. Willow hasn't objected, so there's no reason they can't enjoy the view together.

A young woman with lickably chocolate skin and a teeny white bikini stops in front of her. "Are dere no boys on dis cruise?" she asks in an outrageous accent. "I still have not kissed a boy." She waves her hands rapidly at her scrap of swimsuit. "You'd tink they would come up here to look at us if dere were any here."

Kennedy stifles a laugh. "You're asking the wrong girls, cutie. Although I'm sure someone will be happy to let you know." The other woman stares blankly at her, and she draws Willow a little closer as a clue.

"Kendra." Faith comes up behind the woman. "C'mon, let's mingle a little. I doubt we'll find any timber on this ship, but I bet we can find somethin' t'do without it." Grinning wickedly, she winks at Kennedy and leads Kendra off, one hand on her shoulder. Beyond them, Buffy is making a speech.

Kennedy blinks. Why is Buffy in black and white? "How can the prisoner reach outside except by thrusting through the wall?" the older Slayer rants, not that anyone seems to be paying attention. The huge cross pendant around her neck weighs her down--no, it looks more like a bird of some kind. Kennedy strains to hear her over the noise of conversation. "...strike the sun if it insulted me. For could the sun do that, then could I do the other..."

"She's not paying attention," says the woman beside her. It's not Willow's voice. Kennedy turns to find she has her arm around a plump blond-haired girl. Vaguely familiar for some reason, but not hers. "Those lines are all wrong."

"Yahtzee!" squeals Harmony. "Woot woot woot!" The First Slayer snarls and overturns the table on her before stalking away through the crowd.

Kennedy stares at the girl next to her, frowning. "This is a dream, isn't it?" She waves a hand around at the crowd. "I'm not following any of this, though. And you don't look like a Slayer."

The blond shrugs. "I guess we'll never know. I doubt it, though." She closes her fists and makes...swimming motions?

"Here in this hand I hold his death!" Buffy shouts, waving the Scythe. "Tempered in blood, and tempered by lightning are these barbs...!" Kennedy winces and covers her ears. Some of the other girls have finally stopped to watch.

"Sorry," the blond tells her. "Buffy's not much of a listener, is she? You'd think she'd notice. We might still get through to her if she'd take a breather and look around."

_Notice what? This is just a dream, right?_ Kennedy tries to answer, but her mouth refuses to move. She struggles to lift her arms, kick her legs, but they lie in place as if they belonged to a corpse. Around her the Slayers begin toppling to the deck.

The other girl responds anyway, softly. "Who said it was yours?"

"Sink all coffins and all hearses to one common pool!" shrieks Buffy. "And since neither can be mine, let me then tow to pieces, while still chasing thee, though tied to thee, thou damned whale!"

shrimp crawling out of the ocean over the boat nothing but shrimp  
\--------  
 _Okay, okay, I'm awake!_ But shouts keep ringing in Kennedy's ears as she struggles from beneath the covers. Will's gone...she's the one making the racket. Her and the pounding of Slayer feet, anyway. Kennedy doesn't bother with a robe; her underwear will have to do.

The stairs are crowded, and she's last in line. With a shrug, she leaps the bannister, landing in a crouch and rolling forward, back to her feet. If this were practice, it'd be fun.

"We have to get her inside!" Will calls out, dropping a bundle onto the counter and racing back to the door. The lump skids, leaving thin smears of red in its wake. A head? Looks a little late to her, but if it's a demon, who knows?

Kennedy arrives at the door to find Willow struggling with the body the head came from. Its arms and legs, surprisingly, are twitching weakly. "I've got it, Will. What's the rush?" She seizes the arms and begins to pull; whoever it is, even if she's somehow alive, is in no shape to complain.

"We have to get the rest of her," Willow urges. "We have to get her all in before the sun gets any of the pieces!" Kennedy blinks and stares down at what she's holding. Where the spine should be, a great red furrow has been dug into the flesh.

"Willow, this doesn't make any sense. Her head...if she's a vampire, the sun shouldn't matter. Why isn't she dust already?" But she drags the body inside anyway. No point arguing with reality--and the limbs are still twitching, too.

"I've got a theory." For once, the redhead doesn't stop to elaborate--she and the others have begun grabbing up bits and pieces. Vertebrae.... Kennedy's stomach flips over as she realizes who's responsible. Swallowing hard, she goes to get a closer look at the head.

Anne's eyes look up at her. Anne's lips part, mouthing words she lacks the air to voice. "Oh god...no rush, Anne. You'll have time to talk. We'll...we'll put you back together. Somehow. Willow, we can put her back together, right?" Kennedy reaches around to feel the back of Anne's neck. The same great gouge is there, running all the way up to the base of her skull.

The clatter of pieces of bone dropping to the table. All the rest of the pieces. Everyone's gathered around. Even Illyria--Kennedy shudders; a thing like that standing next to Dawn!--wrinkles her nose in a gesture of mild disgust. Probably not brutal enough for her.

"I think..." Willow begins, hesitating. "If we stitch the pieces back together...I think they should heal up. Eventually. This is way, way beyond anything I've seen a vampire recover from, but--"

Rona butts in. "She's decapitated. We shouldn't have anything _to_ stitch together."

"Supercooling," Willow states uncertainly. They all stare at her, Dawn wearing a frown of partial comprehension. "Buf...I mean, whoever did this..." Kennedy wraps an arm around her. Of course it's Buffy. No one else does this. It must have been a mistake. It must have been. Buffy must not have felt her soul...somehow. "I think they carved out the whole spine from the body, then cut the head loose, with just the spine attached. And then chopped off the vertebrae one by one. I've never heard of that before, and I doubt they expected it, I sure wouldn't, but...if you cool water really, really slowly, and you have to do it all just right and be sure there aren't any impurities, and...well, it doesn't freeze. It's like the molecules get confused, they don't realize what they're supposed to do...."

Dawn raises an eyebrow at that. "You mean her body doesn't know her head's gone?"

"Something like that, yeah." Willow winces. "And if...we have to be careful, really really careful when we start working on her. I don't know for sure, but...um, if you get just a speck of something in supercooled water, or jostle the container too much...Ice."

"You mean dust."

"Yeah. And we really, _really_ don't want that."

Willow knows. She's seen it too. "She's got something to tell us," Kennedy puts in. "Serious bad news." Their stares rise from the head to her. "If this happened to you, would you keep fighting? The sun's rising. In another few minutes she'd have been out of her misery. Anne, stick out your tongue. Let them see." The head--Kennedy has trouble thinking of it as a person--obliges. Its tongue is covered with pavement grit and little compression furrows. Illyria makes a small noise in her throat. She sounds impressed.

"I heard a noise," Willow mumbles. "She was...was...bumping against the door. She had to live, to tell someone. That's how important it is. Whatever it is."

Dawn covers her mouth, clutches her stomach, and runs from the room.

Poor kid.  
********  
Vampire!

Buffy's on her feet faster than a cat. But nothing else moves in the darkness.

Oh. It's only her.

Buffy glances at the clock. She's slept three-quarters of an hour. That's actually not bad any more, nor is it always her Slayer senses that wake her. Her body seems hardly to need it. She wishes she could say the same for her mind. She feels...brittle. Disconnected. But lying down again will do no good. What was she dreaming?

...something about a whale. It doesn't matter. None of it is real. She doesn't really dream. She doesn't really sleep.

The crypt seems to shimmer in her eyes. Or not. It's only mimicry, after all. Buffy doesn't feel fear, or sadness, or even anger or hate. Buffy doesn't feel. Buffy doesn't think. There is no Buffy. The only senses she has that still matter tell her that. Her corpse moves on puppet strings. No one is inside. Just a demon, a thing...pretending. Even to itself. If only she could stop.

How do you go on like that?

There's only one way she knows of to reconnect herself. To make the illusion seem real again. She hurries across the room to the bookcase, opening the one door on the top shelf, retrieving it.

Sunlight would do, if she could risk having a crack in the walls. Buffy is no more resistant to sunlight than any other vampire her age, though her speed allows her to stretch seconds into usefulness if she must. A knife would do, really. Still, somehow this seems appropriate. A secondary reminder, a bit of reality inside her doublethink. She is what she is. Buffy puts on the glove inside--she needs at least one hand, to work--and picks up her cross.

Streamers of smoke rise even from the glove. If she holds on long enough, it'll burn through to her skin...eventually. No sense wasting time. She presses the cross to her stomach, branding red into her flesh. Fortunately the afterimage doesn't retain the same effect as the object. However that works. It sears into her, searching for muscle or bone or gut.

After a white-hot moment, she takes it away. Pain isn't real either. It feels that way, though. For a few moments, she can pretend. This time the pretense doesn't hold. Grimacing, she presses the cross to her cheek. The skin there is more sensitive.

Not sensitive enough, though. She could fall through the floor, still, or float away into the air...like a soap bubble. Or pop. Almost, for a moment, she wants to pop. To let go. But that would mean failure. Buffy doesn't fail. There are worse things she can do. She has a list, a hierarchy of places to burn. She's never reached the top--she hopes never to reach it--but this episode is a bad one. She can progress upward, if she wants...but Buffy thinks she knows the measure of it now.

She opens her mouth and puts the cross inside.

Saliva flashes to steam. Buffy bites down. The pain is her. The pain is real. Her tongue, her...teeth, burning. Still she clenches tight, tendrils of vapor rising from her nose. Just...a little...longer... The room spins.

Buffy finds herself on the floor. Squeezing her eyes closed against the searing, she spits out the offending bit of metal into her gloved palm. The cross is real. The floor is real. The crypt is real.

Buffy is real. Real enough, at least, to go on with.

She rises to her feet and staggers toward the refrigerator; she tears open a chilled packet of blood and pours it over her tongue. Immediate relief...verging on bliss, even. By the time she's ready to go out tonight, the burns will have healed. That much, at least, remains the same.

One day, perhaps, she can let go. Maybe by then she'll be ready for where she expects to end up. It's not as though she's never been there. And maybe then she can forget who she's pretending to be.

There ought to be a better way, dammit. Buffy sighs. Sometimes she wishes Clive Barker were a little more right about the demon world.

She could use a good puzzle box right now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And it's a Shakespeare reference!
> 
> I was never satisfied with the last little bit of the end, but I could never get it quite right either. I've modified it here.


	4. Out of Sight

Disclaimer: Of the characters in this fiction, only Gabriel, Michelle, and Sadha belong to me. The rest are the property of Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy.

Characters: Ensemble

Rating: PG

The oracle concerning Dumah:

One keeps calling to me from Seir,

"Watchman, what of the night?

Watchman, what of the night?"

The watchman says,

"Morning comes but also night.

If you would inquire, inquire;

Come back again."

-Isaiah 21:11-12

Michelle sleeps.

Or so it would appear, with her still form and closed eyes. Gabriel knows that what the woman he loves is experiencing is more than sleep. Even in her coma, she sometimes stirred, shifted an arm or twitched an eyelid. She has not done so one time since he disconnected her from the machines. She never moved as he leapt from the window, fleeing the frantic sound of alarms. She never moved as he sprinted away from the hospital, or loaded her into the car, carefully parked several blocks away where it would not be associated with her disappearance.

This sleep is the sleep of death. But not true death, either.

Still, Gabriel wonders. Does he really know she will wake? The time taken for the change varies. Perhaps hers is already complete. Perhaps this, for a vampire, is coma. It might be that she will simply lie here, never aging, never decaying, an eternal Sleeping Beauty that not even a kiss can waken. She _should_ heal, he believes...but how can he be certain?

Just as likely that she heals even now. Perhaps her deep injuries delay her waking while the new essence within her repairs them, and no longer. Would an MRI reveal the truth? But then, he would have to get her back into a hospital, a seeming corpse in his arms. It would be, at best, a difficult business, and perhaps for nothing.

No, for the moment, all Gabriel can do is wait. And watch.  
*****

Bloodshot eyes follow her movements. Aside from that, he never shifts a muscle. The dead don't need to.

His hair has grown again. She remembers grainy images of him, remnants from another life, an Angelus with a thick, glorious mane. That vampire never displayed the scruff of months without a shave, though, even in that era when the only means at hand was a straight razor and clumsiness meant cutting. This Angel has simply ceased to care.

Nothing can purge him of the territorial instinct, though. He knows what she is. Long experience lies to him that he alone is harmless, out of all his kind. So he watches.

"I doubt your parents named you 'eternal'." His tone is even, suggesting no more than idle chatter to pass the time.

"They might have," she tells him. "Sikh names always suggest qualities of virtue or spiritual excellence. But yes, that would be a rather large coincidence. My other self changed one syllable. 'Sadvi' means 'saint'. If I ever was that, though, I never will be again. Do you consider yourself an angel, then?"

He shakes his head. "'Angelus' was a sick joke on Darla's and my part. Afterwards, I didn't know what to call myself...just that I still wasn't really Liam any more."

Sadha nods. "No one ever really reclaims her innocence. One can only decide the future...never change the past."

"Are you...did you go back to your family's faith?" Angel studies his hands, lost in thought. "The world I lived in seemed to become too complicated for what I'd...at least mostly believed in as a human. But I don't know much about Sikhs."

"I believe some of it," she tells him, not ready to explain what parts. "As for the rest...being a Watcher was religion enough for me. A Chosen One. Spirit powers. Saving the world from demons. Yes...I want to return to that."

Angel frowns, thinking. "I guess it doesn't take a great deal of faith to believe in what's in front of your eyes."

"No. But it takes a great deal of faith to believe that you can change it." She hesitates. "Then again, once one has experienced such a change..."

"I thought...I really believed she'd done the impossible," he muses. "After all, she always has. Saved the world. Come back from the dead." Angel's eyes meet hers, for the first time so far. "I was starting to believe maybe she could do it. That she really could be good without a soul, even if that meant I was a failure after all. I wanted to believe she really intended everything that's happened. And now this."

"And so now you know the truth." She takes a seat at last, facing him at angles across the room. "Is it so bad to have been right the first time?"

Angel hesitates. Perhaps he's thinking. Finally..."Yes. It's that bad." He seems so earnest. He's centuries older than her, but at this moment, he appears quite young. "I wanted Buffy to live at least part of her life in the light. That's why I didn't stay with her, you know. She deserved better than me. And she deserved better than to become the thing she fought."

"Yes," Sadha replies after a moment. "Unlike some of us."

He stares curiously at her. "It's not really something you can deserve, Sadha. It only makes you worse."

"Perhaps. Still, I sometimes think there's a justice in becoming what you behave like." Quite likely he doesn't understand at all. "Maybe that's why the Powers offered you humanity."

Angel snorts. "I had to turn it down to do what they wanted. I'm not sure any more that it was ever meant for me, and if it was it isn't mine now. It could be you. Or Anne, or any number of others. Hell, it might be Harmony. I'm the only vampire with a soul it can't be."

"Had you ever considered," she offers, "that if they can choose to give it to you, they don't need a prophecy to do it?" Surprisingly, he flinches. "It's not yourself you want it for, is it? Not anymore."

His eyes lowered, he mumbles, "If I could give it to Buffy, I would. But she can't have it either. Not the way she is."  
*****

"She's not Buffy."

"I can't believe you'd say that, Xander. After all that she's done for us..."

"And I can't believe you don't believe it, Will. It's a vampire. A demon. It's not the same as her. It's...Buffius."

He won't see it. He won't let himself. "There's something left of her, Xander. There has to be. She saved my life."

"She did it to torture that vampire. You just happened to be there at the time."

"Then why not torture me instead? Don't say it's because I'm not a challenge. I could kill her if I tried hard enough, you know."

"You should. Every time you don't, you're betraying her. You keep telling me I'm being disloyal to Buffy, but I'm not. Loyalty to Buffy, the real Buffy, means killing the thing wearing her face."

"Xander, please. She doesn't have to die. We can fix her."

His face contorts. She can't read him the way she used to. Maybe it's the eye. "You always want to fix everything, Will, but there are things that can't be fixed. She's already dead, and you can't _fix_ that! Not this time! What do you think Tara would say?"

Whenever they argue about Buffy, he throws that at her. "I don't know, Xander. All I know is what she did. She believed it was wrong, and she helped us anyway, because it was important." Willow always ignores the other aspect, the implication that Tara would recoil in disgust at the "unnatural _thing_ ". She might have...though Willow can't recall that she ever did...but it doesn't matter. "It's important again now."

"I'll be at the meeting when Anne can talk," Xander grumbles. "I won't promise anything else. Right now, I have a lunch date."

She never needles him any more. She knows he's already hurting. But... "Xander? First date again, right?" He nods. "Don't you think you should start asking yourself why?"

"She's human, Willow. I don't need any monster in my woman. I'll find the right one when I find her, but I'm tired of dating girls who try to have me for lunch."

Willow just shakes her head. "Then at least don't push this one away."

"I never do. Goodbye, Willow. Don't call unless the world's ending."

The door closes behind him. "I won't," she murmurs. "I won't."  
*****

Giles watches as she drinks.

Anne lies prone on the cot, a bloody dressing draped over her back. The blood is not her own. Her arms are stretched out to either side. Already she can make them twitch. Even if a human could heal from wounds like hers, it would be a hideously slow process. Willow believes Anne will be moving around in a week, walking in perhaps a month, with proper care. Sooner, if she could have been worked on properly, the way Spike's hands were re-attached.

Naturally-so to speak-her esophagus has healed first. Her trachea is another matter. For now, she can manage a bubbly hiss of a word every few minutes, and no more. Giles has managed to nap for a few hours, waiting for her recovery, but only out of exhaustion. He suspects he will not be able to sleep again until he hears what has happened.

Faith is seated at her side, urging her to sip from a mug. Strange, that...a Slayer feeding a vampire blood. Once he would have been outraged. Now it seems almost normal. Anne's head extends a little past the cot's end, with a makeshift frame to support it. She could harmlessly bury her face in a pillow, of course, but she needs nourishment.

"Faith," he suggests, "perhaps she's had enough. She can't process it instantly, any more than you could digest a steak all at once."

She ignores his feeble pun, but removes the mug from Anne's mouth. Anne lets it go without any attempt at protest. "And you can't keep going without some shuteye, G. I warned you what's gonna happen if you go passing out on us in a meeting."

"I've gotten the rest I needed, Faith. Please don't pester an old man." He's not so old, not yet, but Faith will never see it that way. Giles is tired, but not so tired that he can neglect his duty.

"Have it your way. Call me if ya need help." She hands him the mug. "Or if ya need more sleep."

Giles nods and watches her go...then turns his gaze back to Anne. "Is there anything...? I'm sorry...I suppose you couldn't tell me if you needed anything. Believe me, we never expected this from her." He frowns at the mug. "Perhaps we should have. I don't know."

Anne frowns slightly at him and manages to shake her head slightly, though as if she expects it to fall off.

"If only you could tell us...clearly she spoke to you, explained something. I suppose we'll have to wait until you can talk again."

Her brow crinkles into the demon's form. Giles winces. There's no one that this looks right on, but it's worse for some people than others. The kind, and the delicate-featured...Anne is both. Dawn...Tara...Jenny. Fortunate that he's never had to see that look on any of their faces. And he's becoming distracted. "I apologize...are you thirsty again?" He offers her the mug.

Instead of taking it, she changes back. He studies the look, setting the mug aside. Anne changes again, back to her demon face. And again.

Demon. Human.

Dark. Light.

Evil. Good.

It means something, the changing. She's trying to communicate with him. If only he weren't so tired...he sees the duality, but her purpose eludes him. He's drifting...right and wrong...Buffy in the graveyard. Ford is dead. _Nothing's ever simple anymore. I'm constantly trying to work it out. Who to love or hate...Does it ever get easy?_

 _She irons her jeans. She's evil. She has to be destroyed._ Buffy, her soul half drained away, right about Kathy's nature, but only by chance. Making judgments on the slimmest of evidence. Harsh, even vicious...hating a girl who, despite the harm she'd done, had only wanted a better life.

Soulless.

Dear God.  
*****

Normally Faith wouldn't pay the least attention to Willow babbling about prophecies, but...

"...See, it turned out there was a prophecy about how Kakistos was supposed to die, and it happened more or less the way the prophecy said, but it wasn't scheduled till 2050 or so, and there was only supposed to be one Slayer involved. Since Buffy died the first time, the prophecies started getting scrambled, and the Scythe spell made it worse. Things that are supposed to last decades all happen at once, and other prophecies are getting skipped. Anyway, we think the Slayer prophecies must have all been written with one Slayer in mind, and somehow that not being true any more is sort of garbling them."

"That could...complicate matters, if we can't gain accurate information from the prophecy compilations." Faith doesn't trust this new vampire. Not yet. A soul doesn't mean ithat/i much. Besides, the Indian broad is old-school Watcher material. Not that she quite expects a retrieval team to kick the door down, not following a vampire, but still.

"You know, truthfully, I think I like it better this way." Willow scowls thoughtfully. "I mean, not knowing isn't exactly a picnic, but the last prophecy we could rely on for sure got Buffy killed. Destiny? Kinda overrated, if you ask me." Faith smirks. She doesn't agree with Red often, but this she can go for. In spades.

The office door swings open, drawing stares from all 'round the room. Anne can't be up and moving yet, no way. Giles staggers out instead, looking like death left under a heat lamp a few minutes. Damn. Bad news coming.

It's Dawn who manages to speak up first, never mind the nervous stammers. "G-Giles? She's not-? She didn't die...did she?"

Giles seems to pull himself together all of a sudden, even if his face is still greyish. His voice is calm...dismissive. "Does it matter? She is a monster."

Half the room speaks at once...but they're all saying the same thing, Faith included. "What?!"

Kennedy follows up, adding, "Giles, Anne's on our side. She helps out. A lot. What's the deal?"

Faith knows by now that Giles cleans his glasses when there's something he doesn't want to face. Everything else about him, though... "She looks like...just another animal to me." Serious casual.

"Giles!" Willow's voice, squeaky with shock and anger.

Before the room can burst into shouts, Giles suddenly deflates again. "Wait. Please...hear me out." Eying the suspicious stares, he goes on. "When Buffy was...was first turned, she told Angel her intentions: to defy her new nature and remain good. And ever since then, we have been waiting for her to fail. Because, of course, she lacks a soul. She _must_ fail. Wouldn't you say?" He glances at Angel, waits for the inevitable nod. "Yet it has been nearly two years, and Buffy has fed only on the willing, or on vampires. She has killed only demons, so far as we know. There have been indications that she, she enjoys it rather too much...but that has been all."

Giles turns, facing them all one by one. "Because we have been waiting for the wrong thing. We've been waiting for Buffy to begin acting like Faith." His gaze focuses in on her. "Faith, I fear we have done you an injustice. We have allowed you to become our image, our archetype, of the bad Slayer. The rogue."

"Hang on, G. I've done some pretty awful things." What's he getting at? "You were right. Everything you blamed me for, I deserved it."

"I cannot deny that, Faith. And yet," he sighs, "it was not you who tortured Angel nearly to death on your first encounter with him. Or who leapt to the conclusion that Buffy was evil merely because she was with him.

"It was Kendra."

The room goes nuts. "What?!" Faith shouts over the racket. "How come nobody ever told me about this?"

"Tortured him?" Dawn squeals, barely audible. She must never've heard about it either.

Giles waits, obviously struggling not to sink into a chair. Finally, a lull. "Faith...none of us wished to speak ill of the dead. Kendra had...improved, over the brief time we knew her. And yes, Dawn. It was casual, to be sure, almost careless. Not in every respect like Buffy's behavior, I admit." He glances at Sadha, Harmony, the others who haven't heard. "She locked him in a small room with an east window, as the sun was rising. It would have filled with indirect sunlight, not immediately harmful, but growing steadily brighter over the course of hours." Faith stares in Angel's direction, startled. He doesn't look like he wants to remember any of this. "Until finally the sun would have fallen on him directly, had he not been taken away. The effect over that long a period... Imagine a human held at...perhaps a hundred degrees, Fahrenheit. Without water, or shade of any kind. The result would be similar."

"Damn." Miss Perfect Slayer...the Watcher's pet... "She _cooked_ him." By now Faith ought to know better than to be shocked by anything. It doesn't help. And everyone's looking at her now. "But she didn't know he had a soul, right?"

Giles shrugs slightly. "No. But nor did it concern her. He was a demon, a vampire. To her, that was all that mattered."

Willow jumps in. "Buffy told me later that she...Buffy, I mean...was freaking out because Drusilla was going to kill Angel. And Kendra was all, 'He's a vampire. Who cares?' If the plan hadn't been to cure Drusilla, I don't think Kendra would have done a thing...just waited for him to die so there'd be one less to fight."

"And that," the Watcher states, "that is what we are facing. Is it any wonder that we have repeatedly failed to predict Buffy's behavior? In a manner of speaking, she has done exactly what she intended. Buffy remembers her previous moral code, and for her own reasons is determined to follow it. But she does not ifeel/i it, and she has no one to guide her. And therefore there is no nuance...no forgiveness...and no mercy."

Harmony blurts out, "I don't get it. Is she good, or is she evil?"

"Yes." It's the first word Sadha's said since Giles came back. She sounds way too amused to suit Faith.

"What do we do?" Dawn's voice is trembling. "You said Kendra got better. Can Buffy? Can we help her at all?"

Angel, resigned. "Kendra was human. It was just her training. Once we got between her and her Watcher, once she started making friends... It's not the same with Buffy. Not the same thing at all."

Giles finally lets himself slide into a chair. "We'll know more when Anne can communicate more easily. Until then...there is little we can do. Almost certainly we must still ensoul Buffy. It's her best hope, in any case." He looks like he's drifting off again. No wonder, with the little he sleeps.

Willow sounds embarrassed. "How'd we miss it? I mean, Kendra...she..."

"She did what the Council told her," Giles interrupts sleepily. "And by the time we re-evaluated the Council, she was long dead. We had no reason to alter our opinion of her by then. Certainly I hate to besmirch her memory, Willow. Her intentions were good. She did the best she knew. Like all of us."

The redheaded witch puts a hand on his arm. "We helped her all we could in the time we had. And now we're going to help Buffy too. You'll see. I'll find a way."

Faith watches Giles fade. "Y'know, G...I keep warning you. Anne coulda told that to any of us. Guess I'm gonna hafta follow through on that threat." Before he can begin to protest, she scoops him off the couch. "Off to bed, G. Won't be doin' this again, will I? Cause, Slayer strength or no Slayer strength, you're still kinda heavy."

It's a lie, of course-he's awkward to carry this way, but not heavy at all. She takes her time, looks around the room. "Chew on this, guys. You brought _me_ back. And we've got four vampires with souls here in this hotel where there used to be one, and who the hell knows how many out there in the world. Anyone here so much as thinks of givin' up on Buffy without havin' her fangs in your neck, an' I'll do a lot worse than embarrass you in front of the gang. You see how I keep my promises."

And she lugs the head of the Watchers' Council off to bed.  
*****

Will she be able to love him back?

Of course, it's too late to worry about that now. It won't leave his mind, though. He stopped loving her. Maybe she'll stop loving him.

But he's been over this. It doesn't matter. There was no way he could leave her there to rot any longer, not now that he does love her again. He's going to have to let her go free and hope she stays with him, or comes back. He'll do the best he can to keep her from hurting anyone-she wouldn't have wanted that.

Though she may want it now.

He's still waiting. He remembers waking. He remembers gasping for a breath he didn't need. Don't they usually do that? But Michelle's chest remains still, lungs empty.

What does it mean? Should he worry yet? Is she not coming back? He'd been afraid to drink from her, afraid she would die too quickly. Her blood had already been drained; she was on the brink of death, or of life, where the machines had kept her, all those five years. Of course, she hadn't istill/i been drained-they'd have begun rehydrating her the moment they got her in the ambulance. What if that matters after all?

What if all he's done is killed her?

He remembers the certainty he'd had, waking. Now nothing is certain any more. Nothing is clear. Maybe it was better the other way, with the world knife-blade sharp and himself ready to cut. Not that there's any going back, now. And he'd been without her. That was badness enough, though he hadn't realized it at the time.

So he watches. Not a sound from her. Not a twitch.

And then golden eyes...watching him back.


	5. Out of Mind

Rating: PG

Disclaimer: This fiction is based on Buffy: the Vampire Slayer and Angel, which are the property of Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy. Original characters are mine; all others belong to Joss.

This was the end of Meg. There was to be no more anything. Ever. Exit Meg. Ex-Meg. X-Meg.  
Then she realized that if she could think this, if she could think at all, then it was not happening.  
\--A Wind in the Door, Madeleine L'Engle

Black.

She rises through the black. The black is nothing, yet somehow also something. Before this, there had been no black either.

Images flicker through and around her. Flight. Pain. Fear. She recognizes them as past, though she does not remember living them until they have gone by. Dreams? Memories? Memories of dreams?

Knowing that they are past, though, she feels a kind of peace. Quiet. Stillness. As though the clamor of her body's gurgles and creaks has passed away. She's dead, then. This must be heaven. Funny, that. She hadn't been expecting an afterlife. Michelle opens her eyes.

Seeing Gabriel staring down at her is no surprise. Of course if she's in heaven, he must be there too. They had...they had been attacked. She recalls that much. By something terrible enough that it refuses recall.

"Michelle." She smiles. The muscles of her face should feel stiff--she hasn't used them in a while, and how does she know that?--but they don't. "Michelle, do you remember me?" Of course she remembers him! She rises lightly from whatever cushion it is she's on and wraps her arms around him.

"Why wouldn't I remember you?" She brushes her lips gently against his. There's an odd dryness to the sensation--her own lips are dry, she realizes after a moment, and licks them, unconcerned with the appearance of the gesture. "I love you." Appearances don't matter, not in heaven. There's not much illumination here. Still, it seems bright to her after the blackness. There are tears in his eyes. Why? She brushes them away, and only then notices her arm.

Her skin is translucent-pale, spiderwebbed with tiny veins. There is flesh there, of a sort, but all of it seems flabby and limp. She tests with her hands and is shocked to feel only thin, corded rags of muscle present. Her legs, the same. What is this? Shock leads her to breathe deep, and only then does she realize that she hasn't been breathing till now. "I..." she gasps. "What...?" Perhaps the dead don't need to breathe, but she should be kitten-weak with muscles like these. She doesn't feel weak at all. What's happened to her? Where is she? This is no heaven. Her hands run over her body, up her neck, and Gabriel plucks them away before they can reach her face.

"Shh," he tells her. "Try to be calm. Let me explain. Here, take this." He offers her a mug of something warm. Hot chocolate...it must be hot chocolate. He knows that's always soothed her nerves when she was anxious. "Do you remember what happened to us?"

She takes a sip. The flavor is wrong...yet strangely right as well. Michelle throws back her head and gulps it down. "We were...we were mugged. No...that's not right. We were attacked, but it wasn't muggers." What had they done instead? "Took us somewhere, and they...bit us. They...vampires?" Crazy thought, but then, she'd thought she was in heaven, too.

Gabriel surprises her with a nod. "But you lived through it. The place they were staying had neighbors, and they thought someone there was dealing drugs. The police found you there, barely alive." You? Not we? "This is going to be hard. You've been in a coma for...for five years."

"And now I'm what?" Coma. That must have been what she had thought was death. Of course. There was no afterlife, no gods or devils. She'd been willing to accept the evidence of her senses, of course, but obviously she was alive. It'd just been surprise talking when she thought otherwise. "Why am I not in the hospital?" This looked like an apartment in an abandoned building, now that she was paying attention to her surroundings, like the ratty couch beneath her. She couldn't have survived five years in a coma _here_. "Wait. Why am I not breathing?" Something still wasn't adding up.

Gabriel winces. "You're not breathing because you're dead." She frowns, and he takes her hand, guiding it gingerly toward her forehead. "Feel this." Some kind of brow ridges. They hadn't been there before, she was sure of that. "We were attacked by vampires, Michelle. And now we're vampires too."

"After five years?" Gabriel was teasing her. He believed in something higher, or claimed to--he wasn't sure what--and he'd liked to tease her from time to time, talking about unicorns or leprechauns. "It takes five years in a coma to become a vampire?"

His eyes fill with pain. "No. It's a long story, hon. But you need to believe me, okay? It's not a joke this time." He clasps her hands tightly, surprisingly strong. "Look at me." His face... _shifts_ , sprouting ridges and fangs. "Look. Don't be afraid."

She should be. She isn't. That's what convinces her at last...the absence of fear.  
********  
The demons sink to their knees before Illyria, and she smiles.

"We offer you but the faintest shadow of the honor you deserve, Great One." True enough--they should be prostrate--but this will do for now. "Old One, take our unworthy hearts if you so choose, but our service is yours as well."

"Why?" These are the first to approach her. Her memory has been dust longer than her armies, save among a few uselessly weak hangers-on. "Why do you come to me now?"

The leader seems puzzled. "The Slayer-who-was-Turned. She must be destroyed. She brings fear and devastation, turning the weak away from purity and sparing the impure from death. But you, Old One, are pure and unafraid. We know that you oppose her." He raises his arms to her, and she scowls and backs a step away. Facing the floor, he does not see. "You are the essence of everything the Scourge has fought for, oh great Illyria. Our lives are yours."

She seizes him by the throat, lifting him until she can see his eyes. "Do not insult me with flattery, wretch. Pure? I reek of humanity. This world, this vessel, have tainted me beyond repair." He tries to stammer something and she tightens her grip. "As for you...you were the slime beneath my feet. Your 'purity' is less than nothing. You wear their forms. You mime their history. And you dare call yourselves pure, when even I am not?" With a flick of her wrist, she hurls him against the wall. "At my slightest glance the seas trembled and the mountains bowed. I have no need of such as you. Serve me for what I am now, or not at all."

The rest of them sink lower, falling to hands and knees. It should be better. But now she sees the action for the mockery it is. They understand nothing. They offer her nothing. They are nothing. "We meant no offense, Great One," responds the next-in-command. "We grovel before you, Master of Time." Fool.

"Master of Time? My _time_ is done," she informs him. "As is yours. We have been conquered. All that remains for us is to choose whether it shames us less to die, or to walk in a world the humans have made their own."

He raises his eyes to stare at her, bewildered. "You? The god-king Illyria abandons her own kind? For humanity?"

"Can it be?" she mocks him. Her own kind indeed. "Can it be you have not heard that Illyria is dead?"

With a snarl he lunges at her, calling on his troops to attack. She spins, kicking him in the face, and he hurtles backward into his followers. The curs in their mock-human uniforms begin to howl for her blood. Illyria smiles. Violence is what she needs.  
********  
She needs the violence. In battle, Buffy can feel alive. Can _pretend_. That she makes a difference. That she matters. That she is.

"Grr. Hulk smash." The green-skinned demon brings its fists down where her head was a split-second ago, battering uselessly against the crypt's wall. Buffy is already behind him. "Hulk too slow. Hulk too stupid." Her hands slam into his back and drive forward, crushing him into the wall. The creature buckles, stunned for the moment, and she spins to face the others.

The other two rush her, swinging the swords they have not lost. "The darkness will swallow you, devastator. How dare you betray it? Your kind is bound to it with ties that cannot be broken." She leaps up and falls backward all at once, spinning; one blade passes above her, the other beneath.

Buffy smirks. "It already has. Must've choked on me." Their weapons are only half-withdrawn when she chops her hands into their wrists. The demons grimace in pain, but keep their grips on the swords. Tough bastards. She brings her foot up and back into the groin of the one she can feel behind her. "C'mon, I'm dead here, and you still can't put me down. Think maybe it's time to quit?" Buffy leaps, coming down behind them, and smashes their foreheads together, hearing bone and crystal shatter. That should finish those two.

"We do not surrender," the third tells her. "We are endless. Kill the three of us and you will face thirty. Kill thirty, and face three hundred." Blood trickles down its broken face.

"Funny," she deadpans. "Where have I heard that before? Try sending enough troops the first time, you cheap samurai knockoff, and can the tough-guy talk." The demon lifts its head, scowling, and spits green blood at her, just missing the cut on her left arm as she twitches it aside. "Poison blood?" Buffy smirks. "Hello, vampire here? I could walk through a vat of toxic waste and come out fine. Try another one."

She uses her right arm to lift it, though. Can't be too careful, and it looks like the bones in its face are setting themselves already. "You know nothing, undead," it spouts. Lame-ass demon bravado. "Kill all of us you desire. We cannot be stopped."

"If I know nothing," Buffy tells him sweetly, "then killing you would be a such a waste, wouldn't it?" She takes a loose plastic bag and stuffs it in the demon's mouth. "No nasty habits while you're my guest. I'm gonna learn aaall about you once I get back from this little appointment I've got. And if you're nice, and cooperative, and scream on key while I'm breaking your bones..." She snaps one of its fingers casually. "...I just might smash that gaudy piece of junk on your forehead when I'm done and let you die."

It doesn't answer. Stoic is good. In the end, the stoic ones always break.  
********  
"We're not breaking up, Xander. We were never actually together." Deanna replaces a strand of hair that's gotten loose. "I'm just saying, we've been talking barely two hours and your mind is just not on this conversation." Her spoon clatters into the bowl. "So either your favorite aunt is in the hospital, in which case, why are you here, or you're just not that into me. Which is it?"

"Look, Deanna," he struggles, "I just...there are a lot of things going on in my life right now. And I don't know that I can talk about them with you yet, okay? So I'm having to think a little harder about what to say, that's all."

"What are you, Spider-Man?" If she only knew... "I don't expect you to tell me all the intimate details yet. It's a first date. I asked you how you lost your eye, and you clammed up. I asked you about your home town, and you clammed up. I even asked you what you do for a living, and you..."

"Clammed up, I know." He thought he had his story all planned out, but the details keep slipping away when he needs them. Besides, if things were ever to work out, and then the girl finds out he's been lying, what then? "I guess...my life has kinda sucked, see? I don't like talking about my past, what with the abusive parents and the problem girlfriends and the natural disaster. I'm from Sunnydale. You know, the big sinkhole event?"

For a moment it looks as if she might show a little sympathy. Then her face hardens. "Truthfully, I'm thinking the sinkhole event is this date. I'm sorry, Xander. You're a nice guy, you're handsome, and actually the eyepatch sort of suits you. But either we really don't have anything in common, or you don't want to tell me about it, and I don't see how I'll ever get to know you that way." She slips a couple of bills under her plate. "Just take me home, okay?"

They drive to her home in silence. Then he drives through the city alone, in silence. All he wants is a normal relationship with a normal girl, in as normal a life as possible. In the last two years, he's been through ten normal girls. This isn't even the first one to dump him on their first date. His life just isn't normal, anyway, so what's he supposed to talk to them about? High school before Buffy showed up? Yeah...that's a real winning subject.

Xander pulls over, thinking, beneath the shade of tall oak trees. He's come to a cemetery. They have them everywhere...not just in Sunnydale. But Sunnydale is different. His life had been different before he ever met Buffy; he just didn't pay attention to it. A Hellmouth was like an all-you-can-eat buffet table, and he'd been on the menu. They all had been. He was just lucky the tongs hadn't closed around him and dumped him onto someone's plate. Maybe he just isn't meant for...

When did it get so dark?

Xander checks his watch. He's been sitting here spinning his mental gears for an absurdly long time. Must have totally zoned out, he supposes. He promised to be back at the Hyperion. Vampire or not, Anne has information, and it doesn't pay to ignore that. Just has to be taken with a grain of salt. It's a shame she's not herself any more. If she were human, they might actually have something in common. But a normal girl is what he needs.

Sometimes he dreams of Buffy, the real Buffy, when she was an actual girl--well, more human than not, he reminds himself; she was a Slayer, after all. They talk about what's going on in his life. He tells her his problems and his plans, supernatural and otherwise. She encourages him, too; she knows about the vampire, knows it isn't really her. One day, she tells him, he'll find a way to kill it. They're just dreams, of course. But he can believe in them while they're happening.

Checking his mirrors, he pulls out of the parking space. It must be windier than it feels; the tree branches reflected there are shaking slightly. Maybe he should just put Sunnydale behind him, forget all this stupid vampire-hunting crap. Xander drives away from the cemetery and never looks back.  
********  
"You sure you can carry this off, girlie?" She doesn't look like much. Humans always look that way, though...even the big ones seem small.

"I guarantee it. If you've brought what I asked for, they'll be crying for their mommies and your gang will be on top of the world." Cocky. Hampton supposes he likes that in a witch. The more powerful they are, the more they usually brag about it. They're just humans, after all--no horns or fangs or even lumpies to make them look ugly and tough--and if they waste too much power just showing off, they've lost their shot at beating you up.

"'Course I brought it. You just better not be askin' for anything you don't need, 'cause I paid through the nose fer some of it."

"You want quality curses, you pay the price." Her voice oozes confidence, but her hands are shaking and fidgety. Until she touches the packet of herbs and crystals...that seems to relax her. Typical. "You want cut rates, go to some cheap-ass wannabe. Amy Madison's not your girl."

Hampton just smiles, showing fang. "I trust you not to cheat me. Otherwise, I'd have you for a snack and find someone else."

The witch has guts. She smiles back at him. "Ritual space is all set up in back, except for the stuff you brought. C'mon in." She opens the curtain and starts back herself, then turns. "Oh, and don't get all planny. I know how to lock the door behind you when you leave."

"You got me, girl." The back of the shop is her personal space, it seems--her home. It's a fine line to draw, but it seems to have worked for her so far. "S'long as you follow through, I got no need for your blood. I'll be havin' plenty."

She places the last of the candles where they belong and hands him a bundle of the herbs and a sheet of paper. "Believe it or not, your kind's good at this sort of magic. Boundary between life and death stuff. Just read what it says when I stop, 'kay?"

He shrugs at the witch and follows her lead. "Quod perditum est in...invenietur." Amy frowns at him, but he's doing his best. Foreign languages never look like they're spelled right.

She raises her hands over the Orb. "Nisi mort. Nisi al finitei." Diego'll never know what hit him.  
********  
Illyria's waiting for him when he walks in the door. "You're late," she says. "And your shoes are muddy."

Xander glances down at them. He doesn't remember walking through any mud, but he must have. "How can I be late?" he asks her. "I said I'd be back when Anne could talk."

"You have no faith in the abilities of your own kind. In any case, they are not waiting for you. I heard your approach and came out to meet you."

Xander shakes his head, annoyed. "Why?"

Clearly she hears the irritation in his tones. She hears and understands more emotion than she lets on. "I had hoped.... You have a movie. _Apocalypse Now_. But it is not about the apocalypse. I would like you to explain it to me. I must understand your culture if I am to be part of it."

"You're not part of it. You'll never be part of it." Just another demon, that's all she is. A monster out of some hell, come to eat the world. He ought to tell her that. She'd break his head open for saying it, but it would be the truth. "And I don't want you watching my movies without permission, which you won't get."

He tries to brush past her into the meeting room, but she seizes his arm. Nine years of hard training almost makes him resist, but again, she could rip that arm right off, and what good would that do? "You hate me for not being part of your world. Why will you not let me try to be part of it?"

"Because all you can do is imitate, Illyria. You're not human. You don't have feelings, or morals, or any of the things that matter. It's way past time you were dead, or at least out of our way. So get out of mine."

She sighs. It almost sounds real. "Perhaps you are right." After a moment, she adds, "What is longing? What is a star?" Xander frowns at her, but they aren't real questions; they sound as though she's trying them on for effect. None of her expressions ever look quite human, but he wonders how a simple blink can seem so alien, even on a face like hers. "Never mind. I have been thinking too much. They are waiting."

The meeting room--it must have been a ballroom, or a dining room, once upon a time--is crammed full of Slayers and vampires and Watcher-trainees and, of course, what's left of the Scoobies, all seated around a huge table. Before he can reach the chair next to Willow, Illyria is already in it, leaving him squeezed between her and Harmony. Harm flinches; Willow glares at him. Frustrated, he huddles in as best he can. He wants nothing to do with either of them, but it really is his own fault he's late, and he's just going to have to deal with the consequences.

Giles clears his throat. "If we can return to the business at hand? Anne was speaking."

In spite of himself, Xander feels just a little guilty. She's in a wheelchair, with some kind of box strapped over her mouth. The vampire looks sheepishly at Giles and gives Xander an apologetic wave with a trembling hand. "I'm not a psychiatrist," she says, or rather moves her lips and the box says for her in a robotic voice. Xander spots Andrew sitting near her; the blond Watcher nods to him. Of course it would be one of his toys. "But I've seen a lot on the streets and in the shelter. We can argue about the source of Buffy's problems all day, whether it's being a vampire and a Slayer at the same time, or trying to live in a way that's not natural for a vampire, or just the fact that she's totally alone. Whatever it is...I think any of us would be dead, in her place. But she's not well."

Spike was in a wheelchair too, Xander reminds himself. It didn't make him safer to be around. "Buffy talked," Anne says. "She talked the whole time she was cutting me up. She even let me talk back to her for a little while, until I said too many things she didn't want to hear. I don't think she's had a real conversation with anyone since she was turned. Even a vampire needs more of a social life than that. She doesn't sleep, either. Her body doesn't seem to need it, but I think her mind does. I'm not sure she can, not for long."

Anne raises her left arm and points to a spot on its underside, near her shoulder. "It gets worse. She burns herself. She had a scar here, where I think she must have kept it up too long. Some people use cigarettes; Buffy uses crosses. I don't think it makes a difference, except that she can. There are different reasons, but I'm almost certain it's about feeling like she's not herself any more. There's a term, depersonalization...the point is, she feels disconnected from the world, from herself, from everything. And she is, in more ways than one.

"But when I tried to give her some kind of hope for the future, she cut me off. She didn't want to hear it. I know it can't be guilt, but I'm not sure what it is. I want to believe it was because, on some level, she was afraid I was right. She's done so much..." She hangs her head tiredly. "And she didn't even mean to. And it's all about to go down the tubes. If we don't stop her, word will get out that Buffy doesn't care if you have a soul. If we do, she stops being the kind of threat she had to be to make a difference. Either way...the unsouled will turn on us, and on her. They've only put up with us as long as they have because they know they can't afford not to. It might have been them tomorrow. Now it won't be. They don't have any options left except to fight, no matter how hopeless it looks. And everyone else is going to be caught in the middle. So if anyone sees a way out of this mess...speak up."

No one does. It's quiet enough to hear crickets chirp, if there were any. Beside Xander, Harmony shivers; Illyria looks stoic as always.

"I think our first step has to be Buffy," Giles finally suggests. "After that...we can find a way to deal with the rest, once we have her on our side again."

"I can't get close to her," Willow mentions. "I can't get her soul through the mental shield she has up unless I'm within maybe a few yards of her, and she knows better than to let me close in."

"We need a lure." Dawn tosses the idea in as if trying to be casual, but she's leaning up close to Connor. Bad as it is for Xander, all that's happened, he knows it's a zillion times worse for her. "What does she want?"

"She's a vampire. What do you think she wants?" Sadha's cool tones leave Xander wanting to high-five her. Except she's the enemy too, and damn it all, she shouldn't be in here. "She wants to kill."

"No one here's expendable," Willow hurries to point out. "We can't go using people as bait."

Suddenly there's a noise from Xander's left. He turns to stare at Harmony, who looks downright green. "Yes we can," she says in a tiny voice. "We can use me."


	6. Mercykiller

Disclaimer: Not my characters. Not my universe. Just my story. The rest is Mr. Whedon's.

Rating: PG-13

Characters: Ensemble

Beta: KingofCretins

 

"This may seem foolish to you, coming as it does from a false and soulless priest. But I want to say the Mass one last time, and pray, even though I know there is no reason I should be heard with a sympathetic ear."  
Deucalion rose from his chair. "I see nothing foolish in that request, Father Duchaine. It may be the least foolish thing that you could ask."  
\--Dean Koontz's Frankenstein: City of Night

She hears the birds singing in the air. She hears the worms crawling through the earth. Harmony hears it all. Like all of her kind.

Summer is fading into autumn, bringing a faint chill to the city at last. She feels it--is aware of it, at least, though cold means nothing to her now. Feels the breeze stir against her equally-cold skin.

She can smell the green of growing things and the moldering rot of bodies beneath her. The first smells good to one part of her; the second, to the other. Sometimes when you're between worlds, both sides are ugly to you. And sometimes...not.

Harmony takes a deep breath. It's such a pretty night, and it's not like she'll get another.  
***  
 _"Harm...no." Willow's voice is tight with strain. They're not friends, not even now, but... "It's not fair to you. We can't treat you that way."_

_"Willow, think about it. I sucked at being evil, and I suck at being good too. If I get killed, you haven't lost much. It's okay."_

_"Giles, talk some sense into her. Harmony, you're getting better. I thought you were just trying to copy Angel when you started, but you're in good physical shape, and you're learning. You don't suck. We need you." Giles opens and closes his mouth, unable to get a word in over Willow's tirade. There's no telling what he'd say anyway._

_"I'm not that stupid, Will. I know what's going to happen to me. I've lost my soul twice already. It's going to happen again, and this time I won't come crawling back, because now I know it won't protect me. I think...I think maybe I'd run. But no one'll help me, 'cause I'm useless, and Buffy will catch up. If she even has to bother. I'm gonna die. At least give me the chance to do something good with it."_

_"Giles..."_

_"It's her decision, Willow. She's...Lord help us, Harmony is an adult. And I think she understands more than we realize, sometimes. She knows what her choices are. Let her make them for herself."_  
********  
"I feel awful about this, Giles."

"I'm not comfortable with it either, Dawn. But our options are rather limited, you know." He holds her back, letting Harmony move ahead of them, around a tombstone and deeper into the cemetery. They have to let her out of their sight, no matter how dangerous it is. To use any means they can think of to prevent Buffy from noticing them first. There are contingencies, of course...there always have to be. But the odds are best this way.

"Why did it have to be her that started all this? I mean...why not Buffy? Why couldn't it be Buffy who came back for her soul?"

"Your sister is an independent young woman, Dawn. And rash. And stubborn. And headstrong. Surely you can understand why she's determined to do this on her own. Never mind that it can't be done. It was inevitable that she would try." Was there something he could have done differently? Some way he could have set her on a different course? But even then...what course? Buffy changed the world. It was what she did. It was in her nature not to accept what was. Grim though it might be, was there any better alternative than this?

Angel nods. "It's the sort of thing Buffy does. She never stops fighting, even when there's nothing left to fight for."

"Giles, she never did any of it on her own, not really. She's always had our help. I don't mean...I...she wasn't alone. That's how she lasted so long. She needed us, and she needs us now." Dawn chokes down her frustration. "Why can't she see that?"

"Everyone changes, Dawn. Some more than most. Now...I'm sorry, but we need to be quiet. When your sister appears...ask her yourself. Who knows? Perhaps she'll listen." Perhaps there's a chance. Angel shakes his head silently, but surely the world has gone mad enough for there to be a chance.  
***  
 _"So we're what? Sending her in to die?"_

_"I hope not," Giles answers. "Anne, you said Buffy wanted to talk...needed to talk. So we will talk to her, those of us she knows best. Myself. Dawn, I trust you will come?"_

_"Of course I'll talk to her, Giles, but...you don't seriously think we're going to change her mind about anything?" Dawn's eyes stare bleakly at him. "She's my sister, but, well, she's not my sister. She won't listen to us."_

_"This will all make sense, I assure you. I will get there. Xander, is there any chance?"_

_"Does the plan end with 'pile of dust'? You want me to distract her, I can do that."_

_"No, Xander. As I think has already been made plain, staking her will solve very little. We will kill her only as a last resort."_

_"Then count me out. You're wasting your time, G-man, you know that, don't you?"_

_"In that case, Mr. Harris..." Giles pauses, gathering his strength. "...why are you still here? Angel? I would prefer to have only humans in this group, but I need Willow elsewhere, and that means we're rather short of close friends."_

_Angel hesitates. "If you really think it'll do any good, I would like to talk to her again. But Xander's half right, isn't he? Everyone you've brought up so far, we're a distraction."_  
********  
Willow and Kennedy are loaded down with the ritual junk. Until Buffy appears, they can't even start setting up.

"Sure you can't get some kinda foldout thing?" Faith asks uneasily. "Like, nail everything to it, open up when you're ready? When this goes down, it's gonna go down fast."

"I'll just have to float everything into place," Willow says. "Not ideal, it could leave some problem resonances, but it's the best shot we're going to get. I know you'd rather not be on guard duty."

"Hell, any day I get to fight Buffy is a good day." Buffy's always been one hell of a workout. "I'm thinkin' I'll get my chance. This ain't gonna happen like we want, I know that much."

"No," Red says softly. "It won't. Harm's as good as dust already, isn't she?" Kennedy prods her in the arm reassuringly.

Faith shakes her head. "She's got a chance," she says, trying to cover a touch of jealousy toward the other Slayer. "Not a good one, but ya never know. Look...dying sucks. There's no glory in it, none of that shit people talk about. But Harm doesn't think that way. Dying a hero is..." She shifts voices, mimicking. "...like, totally cool, y'know?" The witch stares at her. "How many valley-girls get to do it themselves instead of just seeing it in the movies? Everybody dies. She gets to go out with a bang. Look at it her way, she's kinda lucky."

Kennedy gestures with a candle. "That why she looked scared out of her skin?"  
***  
 _"Yes," Giles confirms. "We're a distraction. We have to keep Buffy busy while Willow performs the ritual."_

_"Right," Xander scoffs. "Like ensouling Angel worked so well."_

_Angel bristles, his face shifting. "It worked, or you'd have been dead the first time we met."_

_"It didn't undo any of what you did before. Buffy would still be alive if..."_

_"Mr. Harris." Giles' voice has gone cold. "We know your opinion on the subject. You've made your position clear. Since you are not going to help us, I suggest you leave the room. If you would like to create your own plan, we will be happy to hear it...later."_

_Xander shrugs. "I'll call Deanna, try and work things out. Have fun getting yourselves killed." He squeezes out from between Harmony and Illyria, letting the door swing shut behind him._

_Illyria turns back to the table, having watched him go. "Grief sits poorly on him. We would have expected such a weight to crush him long ago. Yet he endures it. Will it lessen if we prove him wrong?"_

_Willow sighs. "I wish."_  
********  
"Still say we could have used a goddess on our side." Connor has seated himself on a tombstone and is fiddling with the arm-mounted stake-thrower he hasn't used in years. "We should have brought her along."

Sadha shakes her head, studying him. The child of two vampires...utterly impossible. Or so one would suppose. "Giles was correct. Under the circumstances, we dare not attract Buffy's attention. If we could hide ourselves entirely, that would be better still."

"Too bad that's not gonna happen," Rona says. "I bet she already knows we're here. We shoulda brought more. Everybody, maybe."

"I think not even Buffy would knowingly come out to meet a Slayer army," says Sadha. "Faith, Kennedy, and Angel will all take part in the fighting when it comes to that."

"When? Not if?"

"Much as I regret to disillusion you, Connor, the odds of Buffy coming quietly are extraordinarily low." Sadha chuckles, low and under her breath. "Vampires fight. It's in our nature. And, by extension, in yours."

Rona nods. "We've all got a little demon in us here. Buffy's got more. We just better hope a soul's enough to stop her."  
***  
 _"We need one more group. In spite of everything, it's unlikely that we can hold Buffy's attention long enough to complete the ritual. In the end, I suspect it will come to fighting. At the same time, we have little choice but to limit our numbers. Buffy's enhanced senses will certainly detect us at some point regardless of what we do, so we must convince her that she can win. At the same time...she must be wrong. Angel, and if necessary, Faith and Kennedy, will be present. I need three more volunteers."_

_"Humans," Illyria sighs. "Always you hope for the impossible. Still...the summit you reach for was our dwelling-place. We shall shatter the limbs of Buffy Summers and present her to you as a gift. Then you may attempt whatever you like."_

_"Illyria....I may well regret saying this. You may be the only one of us more powerful than she is. Perhaps you could bring her to us alone. Unfortunately, you are also unique. Even the Slayers whose senses are weakest detect you easily. I don't know how Buffy will react to your presence, whether to run or fight...and that is the problem with bringing you along. If we fail...well, perhaps you will have your chance. I'm sure it will be a challenge for you both."_

_"You would stand in my way?"_

_"No one can stand in your way, Illyria. Except, perhaps, Buffy. Even when she was human, she fought a god and won. She's more than that now, and we need your cooperation...not merely your strength."_

_Illyria assumes an unfamiliar expression: a smirk. "I would give much to have seen Glorificus' face. She always believed herself greater than she was. We will gladly allow you to fail, Rupert Giles, that we may have opportunity to succeed alone afterward."_

_"Ah...yes, thank you. Anyone else?"_

_Connor's hand rises slowly. "This is about my father. In a way, he started this--sorry, Dad, but you did. I'll help finish it. It's only fair."_

_Angel shakes his head. "Connor, you're unique too. Won't she sense that?"_

_"Keep up with the times, Dad. The Slayers who can sense me say I read like a vampire, only not as loud. She'll hear my heartbeat, I guess, but Buffy knows enough to recognize me and know I'm not that special in a fight. I'm good, yeah, but I'm not on the Blue Meanie's level."_

_"I want to meet her."_

_"Sadha, are you certain you're up to this?" Giles frowns. He hadn't expected her to come along._

_"Watcher training methods, from what I've seen, have changed relatively little in two hundred years, Rupert. Most of what you've taught Buffy, I know as well. And unlike the average Watcher, I have the strength and speed to make it useful. Rather than needing to react to her moves, I'll be able to anticipate them, and she won't expect that. I'll survive. I suggest, however, that the final member of this little group be another Slayer. They come closest to matching her."_

_"Very well...though I suggest you be cautious in your assumptions about Buffy's fighting style. She's never been...traditional in her methods. Rona?" The Slayer had raised her hand._

_"Yeah. I was one of the first, right? Trained about as long as any Slayer here. I'm in if you want me."_

_"That will be enough, then. All right...the rest of you will patrol on your normal shifts tonight. Keep your pagers on, however. There is the possibility, however remote, of a true emergency. Tonight we face one of our own. Be ready."_  
********  
She knows Buffy's crypt is close. Harmony's almost gotten used to the idea of Buffy having a crypt. Almost. Of course, Buffy might've slipped out early. Or gone out through the sewers...but they don't usually link up here, they way they sometimes did in Sunnydale, right? Still, Buffy could be...

_Stop fooling yourself. She's here. You just don't want to die._

Who did, anyway? Obviously some people.... Harmony peers around the edge of an oversized pillar tombstone. There's the entrance. This is where Buffy lives now. If you can call it that. She doesn't even have a radio. Or a curling iron, or makeup, or _anything_. Buffy just sort of...exists. No wonder Anne says she's freaking out.

"A month of that," she whispers just before the noose closes around her neck. Her feet leave the ground, kicking. She digs at the cord with her nails, for the first time in her entire existence not noticing when one of them breaks. Harmony fights to call for help, but the air remaining in her lungs can't escape. In all of two seconds, she's hidden among the leaves. With Buffy.

Buffy regards her with those unchanging golden eyes. "Can't even scream, can't even cry..." A vicious grin fades over her lips and away. "Sorry...old times' sake, y'know?" She reaches for the cord around Harmony's neck. "Keep quiet. I can take your head off in an instant, so no shouting and no jumping." Harmony nods, bleakly. It's over. Maybe she _should_ shout. Just get it over with. Buffy's own nails slice through the rope as if it were tissue paper. "Sorry for the surprise, Harm. I've got a lot of time to plan for these things."

Glaring, Harmony responds quietly. "You keep saying sorry. Quit pretending and kill me. I'm ready."

"To die? Harmony, you're not being _noble_ , are you? It doesn't suit you. But you're right. I'm not sorry. I can't be sorry."

"What is it with you and excuses?" She came here to die. Now the suspense is killing her. "Get on with it."

"Fine." Buffy pulls out a tiny box. "I want you to help me."

Super-balance almost isn't enough to keep her in the tree. "Yeah, right. Buffy, that's why we came here. You lassoed me and dragged me into a tree. You're the boogeyman, Buffy. You're the thing that scares monsters. Like I'm gonna believe you're afraid of anything yourself?"

"I couldn't take the chance that you were here to kill me, Harm. You've tried before...not you personally, but the others." She pauses, about to impart some deep secret. "Do you know what it's like to remember heaven, Harmony? I do. It's not crisp or clear any more, but I remember. And I'm never, ever, going to see it again." Shockingly, a single tear rolls down her cheek. "You have no idea what it's like to know that."

"Yeah, well...it's not like you're gonna die any time soon." Something doesn't smell right about this. But why bother faking anything? Why not just kill?

"You don't know that, Harmony. No one trusts me. No one wants me. I hear there are whole demon armies that want me dead. Harm, what do you think happens to a vampire that dies without a soul? Do we go to hell? Or...maybe we just disappear, completely, like a lightbulb going out. I don't want that to happen to me. _Please_...just hear me out."

"I don't know if I can trust you, Buffy. But everyone's down there, waiting. If you come quietly...I'm sure no one will hurt you." Even if they could.

Buffy's arms wrap around her, and Harmony tenses. But it's a hug, a huge rib-cracking hug. "Thank you." She doesn't return it, and after a moment Buffy lets go and opens the box. "These are for you." It's a pair of diamond unicorn earrings...definitely stolen, but still--meant for her.

"Oh, god, Buffy, you know I can't take these." She struggles not to squeal and grab them. "I can't...haven't you heard what happens to me? I can't accept gifts. I mean, thank you, but I'm really really sorry..."

"Harmony...I know it's not easy, but think. For once in your life? If you're afraid of what's going to happen, if you're sad because you can't take them...you're not gonna be perfectly happy. Right? Listen to yourself. It's okay. You're okay. Just...breathe. Or don't, or something. Here."

Harmony reaches out...closes her hand around the box. Nothing happens. She gazes at the sparkly jewelry. Still nothing. "Oh god oh god oh god...." Buffy's being _helpful_. She's acting like a friend. And she's going to come with them and get her soul back. With Buffy on their side they can stop the killing before it starts. It's...everything's going to be all right. Hamony begins to tear up. Everything's...gonna...gonna... "Oh no!"

Buffy's lips peel back in a malicious fanged mockery of a smile. "You stupid, shallow little bitch." Her open hand slams into Harmony's face, and Harmony is spinning backward, backward and down....  
********  
"Giles, where the heck did they...?" Dawn cuts off as Harmony comes rocketing out of a tree to slam back-first into a crypt. "Whoa!"

Giles gathers himself and springs forward, clutching his cross. He won't bring it out unless he has to. "Dawn, pager, now!" He feels his own begin to vibrate against his hip. That'll be signal one--Buffy's been found. Though under the circumstances, it's possible everyone knows. He can hear Dawn's footsteps behind him. She ought to stay back, but he knows she never would, and says nothing.

No sooner has he come to a halt, wheezing just slightly, beside the crypt, than something powerful seizes him by the collar and hurls him away. He sprawls across the grass, coming to rest between the tombstones, and immediately struggles to his feet. It won't have been luck that he didn't strike a headstone; Buffy's aim is better than that.

Dawn is beyond him and to his right, staring at the creature that used to be her sister. Buffy glares, though not harshly, and holds up Harmony, dangling the dazed vampire by the scruff of her neck. "You're all out of your minds," Buffy says flatly. "I keep telling you....I'm on your side. Dawn, what's the matter with you anyway? Running around in cemeteries in the middle of the night?"

Dawn's face screws up as if she's on the edge of tears. "You're not on our side, Buffy, not while you're hurting our friends. You have to stop. You need to let us help you."

"No," says Buffy. "No one can help me now. I wish you could." She holds Harmony a little higher. "Buffy's gone. This is what you're trying to save, and it's you who needs to stop." Harmony dangles there, seemingly human, and Buffy frowns and slaps her across the face with her other hand, twice, until Harmony lets out a low growl and her face morphs. "You can't save this. Not any of us."

"She's a step ahead of you, Buffy." Angel steps out of the night, coat flaring in the breeze. "She has a soul. You don't. No matter what you want to believe, it makes a difference."

"Huh," Buffy chuckles. "It figures you'd be one of the ones who can't tell. Look again, Angelus."

"I'm not..." He stops, appalled. "Buffy, you didn't...you made her lose it. How? No, why?"

"To make a point, Angelus. It doesn't make a damn bit of difference. We are what we are. You are what you are, and so is she. And there's only one thing you can do with things like us." She pulls a stake from her pocket, holding it over Harmony's heart. "Either kill me, or help me kill. Those are the only choices you've got."

A coughing sound erupts behind her, followed by a low-pitched whistling drone, and Buffy spins, her own stake disappearing back into her pocket as she grabs the new one at arm's length. "C'mon out, Daywalker. I knew you were hanging around here somewhere." She throws it back, aimed straight ahead and spinning like a football to keep it that way. "Wesley Snipes was better, you know."

Angel lunges even as she throws, crashing into her from behind and knocking Harmony free.

_Damn it_ , Giles wants to complain, _this isn't the plan._ But it's too late now; the plan has gone to dust as quickly as any vampire. The only part that remains intact is that, hopefully, Willow is close enough and beginning her incantation. All they have to do is delay Buffy long enough.

Buffy has already writhed around to face Angel, catching a blow aimed at her face. "Too slow, sweetie. If I didn't know better, I'd think you thought your lover was still in here somewhere. But I'm not gonna lie to you, any more than you did to me." She forces the hand away, headbutting him at the same time. "It was always you. And I don't exist any more."

"That was _not me_ ," Angel grates, spitting blood from a busted lip. "I'm not going to admit to something I didn't do. If that's the only thing you want from me, it's never going to happen." He can't seem to free his fist from her grip, never mind that her hand doesn't half cover his.

"Right now," Buffy deadpans, "all I want you to do is wriggle." Furious, he drives his other fist at her face as well, only to bury it deep in the ground as she flicks her head aside. "Aww. What's wrong? Don't you get off on fighting me any more? Fine." She tosses him to one side like so much rubbish and leaps to her feet. "Darn. The bimbo got away." She fades left, evading Rona's charge as if the younger Slayer were strolling by, and grapples her around the waist.

"Why can't you come quietly?" Rona argues, pounding fists into Buffy's kidneys. "You wanna slay vampires. We want you to slay vampires. Just not like you did to Anne."

"Last I saw," Buffy smirks, "Anne was still around. Unless you let her roast, but that'd be too much to hope for from bleeding hearts like you. She enjoying being helpless as a baby? I meant her to dust, but when she didn't, I thought I'd just let her suffer a while. She deserves it." Connor comes racing toward them from behind, where Buffy can't possibly see, yet she leaps upward all the same, soaring above the nearby treetops with Rona in tow. "Ciao!" She lets go, lashing out with fists and feet so that both of them topple backward, sending Rona flying into a scraggly pine some yards away while Buffy lands on her feet atop a mausoleum. "Next!"

Giles grabs Dawn by the shoulder. "There's no use in standing around watching this," he says. "We should go..." _find Willow._ But he can't say that. Even through the noise, there's too much risk that Buffy will hear. Connor is trying to come to blows with her, dodging and weaving, but can't seem to get a punch in. If Buffy doesn't already know, he can't risk warning her.

Dawn shakes her head. "What if she notices we're gone? I wouldn't just leave her, Giles, and I won't."

"We need to see if Rona is all right," he suggests. And indeed someone does, at least. "Buffy will recognize that." Dawn nods, reluctantly. They can send in Kennedy and Faith and watch over Willow themselves. Buffy won't have allies. That isn't how she works any more.  
********  
"It's Destroyer," Connor says. "Not Daywalker. What's a Daywalker?" He'd managed to force Buffy off the roof by using her own dodges against her, if only just barely. He's discarded the stake-shooter; the stake Buffy threw back at it must have damaged it.

"Ridiculous vampire movie," Angel answers, working the arm that Buffy ripped from the ground when she flipped him over. "I'd have thought you remembered seeing it. Tell you when we're done working." They're circling Buffy, trying to keep her contained, and he'd feel a lot better about it if the third member of the circle were anyone but Harmony. No...Harm. The soulless vampire that just keeps coming back. Why is she even still here?

She must have read his expression. "There's nowhere left to run," she whines, but she circles clockwise with everyone else, keeping pace. "Not from _her_. If I help you stop her, maybe I can get away before you kill me."

"They won't," Buffy sneers. "They'll hold you down till they can stuff that soul back in where it doesn't belong. I wish I could see you scream while they do." She spins, lunging at Connor, who stands his ground, brandishing a pair of stakes to impale her with if she comes too close. "You are going to put it back, right, Angelus? Bet you just love watching her struggle and cry."

He hadn't even considered what to do with her. What good would re-ensouling her do, anyway? He'd kept his soul for over a hundred years without coming anywhere near perfect happiness. "Happy" hadn't even been an option for him, but it was starting to look as if Harmony just wasn't capable of caring enough, even with a soul.

He realizes after a moment that Connor is staring at him. "Of course we're going to put it back," Connor snaps, perhaps as much to him as to Buffy. "We don't betray our friends." The young man hurls a stake, pulling out another even as the first spins end over end toward Buffy's heart.

"You've got an interesting definition of 'betray'," Buffy sneers, seizing the stake and throwing it at Harmony. With a squeak, Harmony ducks, just in time to catch the stake in her left shoulder rather than her heart. "Not to mention 'friends'. What we are is monsters. You're no different, Connor. It just runs a little thinner. We fight. We kill. We die. That's what we're for."

Angel glances from Buffy to Harmony to Connor and back. Harmony's pulling the stake from her arm, whimpering and not paying enough attention. They need a distraction. "You don't understand at all," he says at last. "You really believe what you're saying. That what you're doing is good. You've got all the lines in place, but you can't see the picture. But we can give that back to you, Buffy. We can help you see it. If you really want to be good, we can still help you."

"Understand what?" Buffy scowls into the distance, at something he can't see.

"Mercy."

"We're vampires, Angel. There's no such thing as mercy," she scoffs. "Not from us. And not for us." She starts to charge at Harmony, obviously planning to break through at the circle's weakest point, and suddenly Sadha appears around a log-shaped tombstone. For a moment, the former Watcher regards Harmony with unconcealed revulsion, but then simply moves into the circle, reinforcing it. Buffy raises a ridged eyebrow. "Who the hell are you?"

"Shefali was more mature at thirteen than you are at twenty-four," Sadha responds. "I'm amazed you're still alive. Oh, wait...you aren't." She assumes a fighting stance Angel recognizes--though he can't name it, he's seen Buffy use it herself.

"Shefali?" Buffy eyes her cautiously...and then begins to laugh. "Oh, this is rich. Giles is even more desperate than I thought. You were a Watcher."

"I _am_ a Watcher. Whether Mr. Giles acknowledges me as such or not." She closes with Buffy, feinting to her left, but Buffy doesn't even acknowledge the attempt. The circle closes up behind them again...as much as it can, anyway. "I swore the oaths, and I have never been formally removed from the list." Buffy leaps above her attempt at a sweep kick. "Even if he rejects me in the end, I will do what I can."

Sadha sees Buffy's punch coming, but it clips her jaw all the same. "Which is what, exactly? Get beaten up?" The second blow lands squarely in her midriff, driving her backward with a grunt. "I'd say I wouldn't trust you as far as I can throw you." A kick slams Sadha into Harmony, and both of them into the broad side of a tombstone, snapping it off like a piece of thin bark. "But that'd be way too far." Angel starts to close in on her--he sees Connor coming from the other side--and Buffy grins broadly. "You're trying to delay me. You don't have a prayer." She leaps, and Angel follows her into the air, but she soars a foot or more above his grasping hands. "Pop fly on the..."

A black-clad blur wraps itself around her legs, dragging both of them back down to earth. "Intercepted."  
********  
Willow is panting when they find her, speeding through the liturgy on as few breaths as she can manage. "...sufletu la el..."

"Where's Faith?" Dawn asks, gasping a little herself. The battle seems to be moving dangerously far away.

"Already gone," says Kennedy. "She saw Rona go flying, and...she hasn't come back yet."

Giles finally manages to catch his own breath. "I thought I saw someone moving in toward the fight on the way here. I'd imagine that was her. Go see about Rona. If she's all right, help Faith and the others. We need to get Willow closer if we can. Dawn? Take the Orb. I think the rest can remain in place at this point in the ritual as long as it's not disturbed. I'll guard it. Willow, can you move while you do this?"

She nods, unwilling to stop. Good. This is going to be a very close call indeed.  
********  
"I don't believe this," Buffy snarls. Faith struggles to dodge her blows, weaving and trying to get in a few of her own. For every one she evades or blocks, Buffy seems to have another already coming. "I'm a vampire, and you're _still_ the bad Slayer?"

Faith wants to respond--wants to insist that if she's the bad Slayer, there's a hell of a lot more of them out there--but she can't seem to catch her breath. She's faster than the other vampires, stronger, tougher--but she still has to breathe. Buffy moves so fast her whole body seems to blur at times. There's no dealing with her on these terms.

Buffy throws a right hook, and Faith grabs for it and hangs on for dear life, trying to yank Buffy off her feet. She crashes into Buffy instead, but the impact knocks them both to the ground. "Didn't know you still cared," Buffy snickers. Doesn't matter. Now that Buffy's not going anywhere, Faith's got a clear shot. She pounds a fist into Buffy's face, giving it everything she's got.

It's not enough. Buffy knees her in the stomach, thrashing, leaving her gasping for air again. Can't give up. Faith elbows her hard in the ribs, smashes their heads together, and reaches for a stake. "Will if I have to," she warns. "Don't make me."

"Shouldn't need to," Buffy snarls, and sinks her teeth into Faith's neck. Faith's been bitten before; she knows how it feels, what it does to you. She raises her stake, prepared to drive it in, and finds she can't. Buffy's like a vacuum cleaner, sucking the life out of her faster than...like...too damn fast, is what it's like. She...she can't...

Buffy's fangs jar loose as a kick grazes Faith's skull. "Oops." Harmony grabs Buffy by the hair and yanks, dragging her away from Faith. "Sorry, Faith, I--" Buffy's feet come up, kicking Harmony backwards, strands of blond hair still dangling from her fingers, and then Buffy is standing again.

She glances around, scowls...and bursts into a dead run, vanishing almost before Faith can see which way she's going. "Damn," Faith mutters, trying to get her hands and feet underneath her. "She's getting away. Somebody he--" The one tombstone in front of her becomes two, three, a dozen....and then nothing at all.  
********  
"Acum!" Willow shouts breathlessly as the Orb flares and vanishes, and collapses against Dawn, crushing her into the side of a mausoleum. Dawn tries to shift her, finds the weight too much after running around all night, and sags to the ground instead.

"Did it work? Is Buffy...?" But Willow shakes her head numbly. The others are coming, drawn by the shout. Connor, who rushes over to her. She waves him away--Willow needs to lie here for a minute or two. Angel, carrying an unconscious Faith. Sadha with her hands locked around Harmony's right arm.

Kennedy appears, supporting Rona. "Got a broken leg here, people. Any more casual...?" She breaks off, seeing Willow. Leaving Rona to lean against a marble pillar, she rushes to lift the protesting redhead out of Dawn's lap.

"Just...just got to rest a minute, sweetie. Better than it used to be. Practice...you know." But Kennedy pulls her to one side, making room for Connor to help Dawn up.

"Willow," Giles says, arriviing with a bundle of artifacts wrapped in his jacket. "Did the spell function properly?"

Willow shakes her head again. "She got away. The spell worked...I felt the soul brush by her shields. I bet she knows, but it didn't take. I tried so hard...."

"Nobody's perfect, Will," Kennedy tells her, receiving only a frown in response.

"What's with Harmony?" Rona asks, scowling at the pair of vampires. Harmony turns dull eyes toward her, pouting slightly...resigned.

"She lost her soul again," Sadha growls. "How many times did you say this has happened?"

"Three, counting this one," says Angel. "But we'll deal with that later. We need to get Rona and Faith to a hospital."

"No," says Sadha. "I think we may as well deal with it now." She produces a gnarled stake from one of her sleeves. "She's a liability."

"What?!" Connor echoes Dawn, realizes they're saying the same thing, and lets her speak. "You can't! She came into this expecting to die, Ms. Kaur. To help us."

"For all practical purposes, she has. Look at your witch. She's exhausted, and the Orb is gone." Willow mumbles something and tries to stand. "If this can happen at any time--even in combat--then Harmony is worse than useless to you. She could turn on you at any moment."

"Much as I regret to say it," Giles begins.

Connor interrupts. "Then don't. Betraying your friends just gets you dead faster."

"This is not a friend!" Angel insists. "Maybe it was, but not now! No more than Angelus would be."

"Harm's no Angelus," Rona puts in weakly, "so can we get back to calling 911? Please? Deal with the dumb blond sometime when my leg's not broken."

Harmony's not even trying to defend herself, Dawn realizes. She doesn't even respond to Rona's insult. She's given up.

"I'll take care of that," Giles says irritably, and pulls a cell phone from his jacket pocket. "You should all be aware that our supply of Orbs of Thesulah remains limited. We can only produce them so fast, and we may need them for more important tactical purposes than....pardon me. Yes, please...we've had an incident...." He turns away with a sigh.

Faith stirs. "Stop her...hey, who's got me? This the hospital?"

Willow struggles to her feet, shaking Kennedy off with a murmured, "I'll be fine." She stalks toward Sadha and Harmony, hair bristling visibly despite the lack of wind. Sadha tightens her grip on Harmony's wrist at the witch's attempt to release her. "Damn it, people! What the hell happened to 'family'? Because I thought that's what we were, _all_ of us, and if I have to make a dozen Orbs myself just for Harmony I'm gonna do it! No, maybe we don't get along all that well, but--"

There's a rush of wind, a solid _thunk_ , and abruptly Angel topples over, pinning Faith beneath him. A crossbow bolt protrudes from his side.

"You wanted mercy?" Buffy calls from atop a mausoleum. "There. Mercy." Kennedy starts to lunge forward, but Buffy vanishes almost too fast to see her go.

"Aw, hell," Faith murmurs. "Tell me she didn't use--"

"Don't even say it," Dawn warns her. "Guess it's battlefield medicine 101." She puts her hand on the bolt and yanks it free. "Eww. Sticky. What's...?" Angel groans painfully, writhing as every muscle in his body seems to tense at once. Dawn reflexively tries to hold him down with hands on his side and chest, not that she has any chance of doing so....

And feels his heart begin to beat.


	7. Glimmers of Dark

Disclaimer: All Buffy/Angel characters are property of Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy. I don't look like Joss Whedon, do I?

Rating: PG

Characters: Ensemble

Beta: The inestimable KingofCretins

 

What may not be expected in a country of eternal light?  
\--Mary Shelley, Frankenstein, or, The Modern Prometheus

Xander just wants a midnight snack. He hasn't planned anything beyond heading down to the community refrigerators and making off with a candy bar or two.

He certainly isn't expecting to run into Illyria carrying an open bag of popcorn and three DVDs.

"I told you not to--" he starts before seeing the titles. They're not his. _Oh God. Bruce Almighty. Dogma._ "I...um, sorry." It's not right to apologize to her. She...it doesn't deserve his apologies.

"I have completed my scheduled patrol. I encountered one vampire and shattered its skull. The experience was empty," she tells him. "There was no challenge, and I saved no one from death or injury. A human schedule does not adequately fill my time, though I have experimented with trying to sleep. Therefore, these rentals." A cursory shrug, creaking the leathery carapace around her shoulders. "Perhaps they will aid me in understanding my role in your culture."

"Good luck with that," he says absently. "Enjoy."

"I intend to." She doesn't move aside to let him pass. He's not inclined to offer her--it, he means--it the courtesy, either. "Does your continued presence imply that you wish to watch them also? You may, if you so desire. Your reactions may...assist my comprehension. In some small respect, that is."

"No, I..." His stomach betrays him with a rumble. He can't remember eating supper last night, though he must have, sometime or other.

She holds out the bag of popcorn in one slender hand. "For me, eating is one of your cultural rituals. Your inferior biological system, on the other hand, requires nourishment." _Cultural rituals..._ Illyria frowns at him. "You should accept my offer."

Xander sighs and takes the bag. "If you insist." It infected Fred Burkle like a disease. Maybe he should throw the popcorn out. Not so different from what happened to Cordy, in a way. Infected by demon.

She frowns again. "What is it that you...have no right to?"

The question freezes him in his tracks. He's practically naked in front of her. Not because of the shorts and t-shirt he's wearing, but in his mind. She can see how much he hates.... Xander tries to turn around and go back to his room with the popcorn, but she grips his shoulder, pinning him there.

"What have you done that you feel guilt--?" The doors crash open. Illyria spins, then sets her jaw, affronted to have been startled like this. He looks over the balcony to see Dawn scurry in, Willow trying to blend into the wall in her wake, and after that... Saved by the bell.

But no Buffy. Why is he not surprised?

Illyria releases him and descends the stairs; he follows in her wake. Willow takes one look, then splits a brief glare between the two of them. She just doesn't get it.

Faith and Rona are missing, and Sadha has Harmony pinned by her left wrist. And Angel...Angel's eyes open wide, he sticks his hand in the bag of popcorn, and stuffs a handful into his mouth. "'S good," he mumbles. What the hell?

"He's alive," Willow says with the hint of a smile, instead of the big grin Xander would expect from that sort of announcement. Then again, it is a little late for it. "Angel's human."

"Dn gt," Angel says, then swallows and starts again. "Don't get used to it," he sighs. Sadha directs a pitying look at the back of his head. "It's just Mohra blood. I'll...I'll have to have it undone again. But I may as well enjoy it while I can." He takes another handful of popcorn.

"That belongs to Xander," Illyria says imperiously, but Xander shakes his head; Angel can have it, if he wants.

"Mohra blood?" he asks. "I must've missed something."

"You were...ah, well, you were out on your own when Angel explained to us," says Giles. "You haven't seemed interested in hearing the details about the regenerative properties of the Mohra. Angel was human once before, but he had that day removed from the timeline rather than put Buffy at risk." The Watcher levels his gaze at Angel. "What I'm curious about is how Buffy knew. I can easily believe she remembers how to kill a Mohra--she rarely forgets such things--but you said the entire episode transpired without anyone except you seeing the blood so much as heal a bruise."

Willow clears her throat. "We know there are several groups of demons trying to kill Buffy already. It'd make sense if the Mohra are too, Giles. You called them warriors of evil. Even though she's evil...sort of...she's still killing their side. Maybe she's had to fight some."

"That's a possibility," Giles admits, "but how does she know what their blood would do to a vampire?"

"With a soul," Sadha reminds them with an oddly significant glance at Harmony. "I doubt it can summon souls from the ether all by itself."

"Doesn't matter," Angel says. "None of this matters, because it's all got to be undone anyway. I'll..."

"Go where?" Giles asks skeptically. "You told me the Oracles are deceased and, apparently, have never been replaced. Surely you don't intend to return to the Conduit? Even if your request could be carried out from there, it doesn't sound as if you were treated well. Would the Powers even consider it?"

"I have to try. I can't fight Buffy this way. We'll undo the whole fight, and this time I'll know what's going to happen. I'll still be a vampire, we'll catch Buffy, and Harmony won't lose her soul." Xander chokes slightly and recoils from her. Never mind that Sadha's hanging on to her; she might let go at any minute.

"Of course she will," says Sadha, frowning at her captive. "Just not tonight. And I expect that you'll let me know about her problem, if you mean to be the only one who recalls what happened."

"Just in case," Willow puts in, "I'm gonna go get an Orb from the supplies. You still don't know how you're going to do this, Angel, and if it doesn't work I'll need to re-ensoul her as soon as I recover enough." She drags Kennedy off down a hallway. Funny how she always seems to take the lead that way lately, Xander thinks; Kennedy's strong enough to resist if she wanted.

"Connor, take Harmony, if you would," says Sadha, all but shoving the vampire into his hands. Xander tries to pull Dawn away--she's much too close, now--but she shrugs off his hands and moves even closer to Connor. "Rupert, we need to speak in private about her."

Giles nods reluctantly. "That we do. And about other things besides, Ms. Kaur. My office, then." Frowning, he moves off without looking at her again.

"You appear to have suffered casualties." Illyria suggests to Dawn as the group disperses. "I told you I should be the one to confront Buffy."

"Maybe you were right," Dawn tells her, unhappily. "Rona broke a leg. Buffy...she took a big honking bite out of Faith. They're both in the hospital. Faith'll be back in action by tomorrow, I think, but bones take more time to heal, even for Slayers."

Connor's not holding Harmony very carefully--one hand around her wrist. Xander suspects he doesn't take her seriously, which is bad, but then, he's had to deal with Angelus. After that, Harmony probably seems, well...harmless. "Angel thinks Buffy's getting stronger," Connor mutters irritably. "I couldn't even get a punch in. She looks...did her face seem different to either of you? All I've seen till now is a picture."

"She's aging," Harmony mumbles softly. "Oh, don't look at me like that. It's her bumpies. They get wrinklier the older you get, and finally your face sticks that way. It's way faster for her than it's supposed to be. In a few years, she'll be all yuck if this keeps up."

"Must be a Slayer thing," Xander says, shrugging. "Too much power, or something." He edges away from Harmony, then reverses course on realizing he's getting closer to Illyria instead. "So why isn't Harm dust?"

"Sometimes I can't believe I had a crush on you," Dawn grumps. "C'mon, Connor. We'll have to lock her up, but we shouldn't leave her all by herself. She needs someone to talk to."

And then he's alone again. With Illyria. Who smiles at him. "You speak plainly, Xander Harris. We find this...refreshing. Few humans show your degree of candor." He sighs, turns, and walks away. The fridge, that's where he was going. He can feel her eyes boring into his back...but she lets him go.  
********  
"I find it disturbing that the Oracles have not been replaced," says Sadha as the office door closes.

"Likewise, and the Ra-Tet as well, and several other cosmic positions," Giles acknowledges, "but there is nothing that we can do about that. I want to discuss your behavior tonight."

She shakes her head. "If you mean my suggestion to destroy Harmony, it was tactically sound."

"Many things are tactically sound without being appropriate, Ms. Kaur. Moreover, while actually destroying Harmony would have been sound, discussing it was not. If you expected to give orders and have them carried out without question, then I must remind you that that day is past. In truth, I think we Watchers lost the right to do so long ago."

"The girl is a liability, Rupert, and a threat to everyone in this building." She paces around the desk and, after studying him for a moment, takes the seat behind it.

"We have plenty of time to re-ensoul her," Giles says impatiently. "She's surrounded by well over a dozen Slayers. And you are in my chair."

Sadha shrugs and stands again. "Would you say that if it were Angelus?"

"She's hardly Angelus."

"What if I were the one, Rupert? I had to lie low for quite a while to keep the Council from knowing about me, but even so, my demonic self was responsible for all manner of murder and suffering." She shifts faces, leaning towards him, speaking softly into his ear. "What if it were you?"

He's becoming used to her tactics; he doesn't flinch. "It is not me, or you. It is a girl who was extremely fortunate to graduate from high school. And yes, clearly over time she has learned, become somewhat more formidable than she was...although that is not saying a great deal...but if she lived a thousand years, Harmony still would not be a threat on the order of Angelus." He pauses, considering. "Or of either of us."

Sadha puts a few steps between them again, her face human once more. "So you haven't gone entirely soft on me. Though perhaps you rate me too highly. I didn't succeed in striking Buffy even once."

Giles shakes his head. "You survived. As far as I'm concerned, you performed more than acceptably in battle. A pity that's not the function of a Watcher." He finally takes his seat. "The unfortunate truth is that I can't afford not to take you on at present. Your skills are more than adequate, your history suggests a strong working relationship with your Slayer, and, sadly, your ethical perspective is no worse than many of the others I've had to accept. Though, after the arguments you made to me..."

"I referred to those of us with souls, Rupert," she interrupts. "You can't compare us to the creatures without."

"True enough," Giles sighs. "I've found a pair of Slayers in Houston who would, I think, benefit from your tutelage. However, you won't be going alone. Officially, I'm only assigning one of the girls to you."

"And the other Watcher will also be watching me."

"That's right." He hands her a pair of manila folders. "I truly hope you won't make me regret this, Sadha. I'd like to believe that you represent real hope for the future...whatever happens because of Buffy."

"You needn't worry, Rupert." She grins gamely at him. "I do."

The office door swings open. "Giles, um...Ms. Kaur," Willow blurts out. "Sorry to interrupt, but we've got a problem."  
********  
Fifteen minutes later, the three of them have joined Anne and a bleary-eyed Andrew behind the front desk.

"I was so sure it was Tamara," says Anne. "She knew all about the San Diego coven. Told me they needed extra Orbs as soon as possible for a group of panicky-sounding vampires."

"The camera doesn't lie," Andrew intones a little weakly. "Tamara was never here. It was a glamor."

"So she took them all?" Sadha sounds baffled. "What would she use them for?"

"Unless someone knows a lot more about the liturgy than I do," Willow says, "which is possible but not likely...except maybe if it were a Gypsy, and it isn't...or they've been doing their own research...there's still only one thing an Orb of Thesulah's good for."

"Restoring souls," Andrew states. "Which means we can't really even say she's doing something bad."

"Technically the curse _is_ dark magic," Willow murmurs, "and she is stealing them. But I guess you're right. If Amy's going to do curses for hire, better this one than something else."

"Can we find her?" Anne's tone fairly crackles with frustration, even through the robotic voice of the speaker. "You need at least one for Harmony."

Giles leans in to peer at the monitor and shakes his head. "Sadly, Amy Madison is very good at not being found." Sadha gazes at him expectantly, but he shows her a decisive frown. "Harmony will have to wait until we can fabricate more Orbs."

"I don't suppose there's any way to remove this 'perfect happiness' clause?" Sadha suggests doubtfully. "If you insist on ensouling her yet again, you may as well make it stick this time."

"Tara and I cracked that one the year Buffy died," Willow says, her voice regretful. "There's a basic law of reality, whether you're dealing with science or magic. Andersen's Rule--'There ain't no such thing as a free lunch.' You can change the spell to fix the perfect-happiness clause, but only if you put in a different price that's as bad or worse. I found a method that just kills the caster, and a few others, but nothing better."

"Then how does the demon do it?" Andrew asks. "I mean, Spike never had any problems."

"Maybe he never found his loophole," she suggests, "but I figure the demon had some ookier price instead. Or...well, I guess it's possible there's an easier way to do it that I haven't found, but...I just don't know enough." Giles shows her a small, affectionate smile. "I guess I never know enough, do I?"

"Keep trying," Giles tells her. "Keep learning. Just...do be careful. Right now, I suggest you sleep on it. We all should. I suspect the days ahead of us may be long indeed."  
********  
"Aiighh!" Dawn's head snaps up at the thud and painful scream. Splashing the last of the water over her face, she dashes back out of Harmony's bathroom. The vampire is lying on the floor with a wooden stake protruding just below her ribs.

"Harm? What the hell are you doing?" Dawn yanks the stake loose, though it's obviously not going to do any more injury. "I'll have to clean this now and...." Tears are rolling down Harmony's face. Dawn looks around the empty room; Connor has gone off to get the vampire some blood. "Harmony, did you do this?"

"I fell wrong," Harmony murmurs, pointing to the bed. "I wedged it in and tried, but I missed. Owww!"

Dawn always used to bandage up Spike when he was hurt. Maybe he didn't need it, but it made her feel like she was helping. She goes back to the bathroom for a bottle of alcohol, taking the stake with her. "Harm, you do know there are easier ways, right?" It didn't take anything fancy; a vampire always had plenty of strength to just drive the stake in. When Spike had tried to fall on a stake, somewhere deep down he'd really wanted to live, but Harmony might be silly enough to think it was necessary. "Why?"

"I can't be bad," Harmony sniffles. "I can't be good. I'm stupid and useless and I can't get away from you and even if I did I'd probably just run right into Buffy." She tries to push Dawn's hands away. "That stuff stings, and it smells _bad_. At least if I'm dust nobody can torture me."

Dawn resists; Harmony can stop her if she tries, of course, but in the end lets her rub the wound with a soaked cloth, wincing with every motion. "Did you know Spike tried this? After he was chipped, I mean. Before he found out he could still fight demons."

"I'm not Spike. I can't be Spike. I've been trying so _hard_ , trying to be worth something to somebody. I can't. I can't." She starts to rock back and forth, whimpering. "Lorne told me a long time ago I was on my path, and I thought he meant I could be good, but I can't. I can't be anything."

Dawn reaches out to hold her still. "If Lorne told you you were on your path, Harm, then maybe you're still on it. I mean, a path isn't something that just lasts a month or a year. It's your life, your whole life, and, um...you can't just stop walking on it because things look bad right now, see?" The wound already seems to be closing. It only bled for a second or two, of course, and that just a few drops. "You don't have to be some kind of champion. You don't have to be Spike, or Angel, or Buffy, or anyone but Harmony Kendall. It's okay to be you." It strikes her suddenly that, in a way, she's older than Harmony now. She's gotten older. Harmony never will.

"It sucks to be me."

"Harmony...I want you to listen to me, okay? Just listen, because you obviously haven't thought about this." She swallows hard, trying to let go of something she didn't realize she was holding onto. "I thought Buffy had changed the world, you know? But she hasn't. All she's done since becoming a vampire was scare people. None of this is...she didn't do it. She didn't make anyone go out and get souls, Harm. You did. Buffy didn't care. It was all you. You made the difference, Harmony. _You_ changed the world."

"No, I..." Harmony stares at her. "I can't...I couldn't have...Even if I did, it's all going wrong. So maybe it was me, screwing everything up worse than it was."

Dawn wipes a tear from Harmony's face. "You're screwing up your makeup, at least. But you know what? It doesn't matter if the big soul movement doesn't last. It happened. You saved lives. This year, this moment, you're making a difference. I'm not going to let you throw that away, you hear me?"

This time Harmony is serious about pushing her hand away; Dawn's wrist pops as she uses a little too much force. "I'll betray you. I can't not. I did Angel, you know."

"That's right. You turned him in to Marcus Hamilton." Dawn smiles. "Guess what? That's why he's alive. Think about it. If you hadn't, Hamilton would have been with the big army. Angel wouldn't have had the big scary Wolf, Ram, and Hart power in his blood, and he'd be a pile of dust in that alley, just like Spike. He lived because of you, Harm. He won because of you. With enemies like you, who needs friends?" Dawn reaches out, offering the hug she wishes she could give to her sister. That she wishes could make it all okay. "You don't have to be perfect, Harmony. I give you my permission to be selfish. That's evil, right? Take care of yourself. Do what it takes to stay alive in the middle of twenty Slayers. And swipe my mascara if you want, cause yours is getting awful runny."

"Don't," says Harmony in a small, tight voice, pushing her away. "Don't hug me. You smell like food, and I'll bite you, and they'll kill me."

"Do you want to die?"

"...No."

"Then be selfish." Harmony is cold. But then, Buffy is too. It doesn't matter. Dawn won't let it matter. She'll find a way. There has to be a way.  
********  
Buffy pats the creature on the head, ignoring the way the small horns cut her fingers. They'll heal. It whines, shivers all over, and pulls away. She can see by the marks in the floor that it's been fighting, clawing to get loose ever since she left. She could hear it as she opened the door. But the moment it saw her returning, it crawled into the corner to cower. Sweet.

"You don't brood, do you?" Buffy says, grinning. Seeing her move away, the creature that, earlier tonight, had been a vampire hunting in her territory, whines and licks up the blood that trickled down its face from Buffy's hand. "If you only had a brain..." It's time to pack, she supposes, gather up what little she has and move. Too many people, too many _things_ know where she's staying now. "Looks like you breed, though. Maybe I should give you to Angel for a present. He should appreciate that now. As much as he'll be able to appreciate anything." Buffy picks up a ruined blouse. Too bad it was her size. If she'd known exactly what would happen...

But it's too dangerous. The demon is still cold to the touch, but its heart beats. Its lungs rasp. It's alive. It might actually, literally breed, and she'd be turning these creatures loose on the world. Hmm... No. Too stupid to be a challenge. "You don't even remember your name, do you, Renae?" The demon whimpers softly. There are claw marks on the lock, maybe tooth marks, too, but no sign that it's tried to reach the key that Buffy left just a little too far away. Angel will be out of his misery, then. Good thing she wore gloves working with this stuff.

No use taking it with her. "C'mere, you." She grabs the chain, dragging the beast roughly over to her, feels for the heart, drives the stake in. It melts into a puddle that evaporates instead of dusting, but either way the disappearance is complete. Good riddance.

Time to be gone.  
********  
"Sir."

The Watcher looks up at his subordinate. "Here to report, I presume."

"Yes, sir. As you predicted, Rupert Giles has accepted her. Worse, it appears that he plans to harbor a vampire _without_ a soul, possibly for an extended period of time." That was significant; there had been rare instances in the history of the Council when it was prudent to work with vampires or other demons, but only briefly, and only for immediate gain. Rupert Giles' actions violated both the spirit and letter of Council law. "Do you intend to convene a trial?"

"What purpose would it serve?" he asks her. "No, I fear that our Rupert has acquired too much power to be deposed by conventional means. A pity he had both Slayers in his pocket when the main body of the Council was destroyed. It appears that we will have to use other methods."

"Other, sir?"

"You have an imagination, Janice. Make use of it." No, Rupert Giles could not be permitted to destroy the Council's purpose. He would have to be taken care of.

"I understand, sir. I will pass your message to the others."

Roger Wyndham-Price would make certain of it.  
********  
"...are reporting multiple incidences of increased gang violence, possibly drug-related, in several locations here in Atlanta," says the reporter for the 5 a.m. news. Sadha has taken to television more than many vampires of her age. She prefers to remain connected to the world. "Sources within the police department have suggested a relationship to the firebombing of an illegal bar in an abandoned warehouse two nights ago. Though the bar appears to have been in operation at the time of the attack, the absence of bodies has investigators baffled..."

She knows this image. She knows this place. Sadha "rewinds", using the DVR, and begins recording, then heads for Anne's room. The other vampire may be the only other person awake so early in the morning, and she appears trustworthy. "Anne," she says through the door, certain she can be heard. "There's something that you should see. That we should all see once the others are awake. I was wrong."

"It's already begun."


	8. Strangers on the Bus

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Contains the implication of an offscreen rape by vamp!Buffy.

Disclaimer: All non-original characters are the property of Joss Whedon/Mutant Enemy/etc etc. All original characters belong to me. Hands off! Er, well...ask first, anyway.

Rating: PG-13

Setting: Roughly 2 years post-Chosen

Beta: KingofCretins

Distribution: Feel free. Just let me know. I'd be flattered.

 

"I will show you the fate of the people who pray to the Prophets as gods. But then you must tell me: To whom do the Prophets pray?"  
\--Judith and Garfield Reeves-Stevens, Star Trek DS9: Millennium Book II: The War of the Prophets

Gabriel seizes her hand and hisses, softer than any human can hear, "Not now!"

"But I want to," Michelle responds in equal silence.

The waitress turns away, yawning. It's an all-night greasy spoon they're in, midway through Nevada. Just as well they don't need to sample the food, only meet a contact of Gabriel's.

"I'm hungry," Michelle states bluntly. "I need to eat if I'm going to get my strength back."

"Yes," Gabriel sighs. "You do. But not now, and not here. You'll get something to eat, I promise." When they're alone, it's different. When they're alone, she's almost the same as she was.

"You're such a wet blanket," she tells him. "Why not here?"

"'There are more things in heaven and earth,'" he quotes, "and in hell too. A lot of them are dangerous to humans, the same as we are. Once, a long time ago, someone made a protector for humanity. One girl in all the world. Something like now."  
********  
Janine's gone to a lot of trouble to make unlife worthwhile. A mixture of threats and bribes got electricity and cable (there's not so much call for running water) secretly hooked up to her new home, no charge. Add to that plenty of choice furniture: a bed, a comfy sofa, flat-screen tv, even a few _objets d'art_ \--nothing too tacky, of course. Greg doesn't care much for the vases, but never mind that; he's mostly beefcake, and if necessary a little help handling intruders. There's always someone who wants to move in on your territory.

Someone like the skinny blond girl who just dropped in through the hidden door from upstairs. "It's polite to knock," Janine tells her, more out of habit than anything else. Not many vampires bother being polite, and there's really nowhere to knock.

The blond girl picks up the remote, flipping channels through several screens of late-night movies and music videos. "I like your crypt," she says without a hint of the feeling that ought to accompany those words.

"Very nice of you, dear," says Janine. "As you said, it is mine, and I'd like you to leave. I don't appreciate having guests arrive unannounced." She motions Greg forward with a finger. "It's uncivilized."

With a rush of air, the blond girl disappears. That's the only word Janine has for it. One moment she's next to the bed, and then gone. A rustle draws Janine's attention, and she turns hastily to find the girl near a shelf full of china. Janine almost chokes; she's pulled that trick on humans before, but the tables have never been turned on _her_.

"Funny," says the girl. "I didn't believe Spike about Slayer blood, but I guess he was telling the truth for once." Spike? That Spike? Slayer blood? What exactly is going on?

"Listen here, young lady," Janine begins. She doesn't get the chance to finish; pain spiderwebs through her chest like cracks in window glass.

"I like your boyfriend," the girl says, turning towards Greg.

The world curls away like smoke.  
********  
Everyone's rushing around arguing about what to do, planning, mapping it out, getting ready to fight. Connor has opinions, and he gives them, but he's never been the planning type. He's a doer.

Who are they really trying to save, anyway?

Finally he slips away out onto the balcony of the suite he shares with Dawn. He needs sun. He needs air, and time. It looks as if she needs the same.

"Hey," she says from the railing. There's no way for her to know it's him--she's no Slayer--except that no one else really uses this space. "Got tired of talking?"

"It's all been the same questions for the past hour. Like vampires would put up with being 'protected' by us."

Dawn nods. "Sorta like the fox watching the henhouse? Um, that didn't come out right. But still--I think that's how they'd see it."

"None of this feels right, Dawn." Connor stretches, popping his back, and leans over the rails next to her. "I know what vampires are."

"Maybe more than anyone. I mean, your parents--"

"Not what I mean. I told you about where I really grew up." The real story, or the basics of it, anyway, a little spotty with the false memories that seem just as real. And then the false story too--she'd laughed over that one. She understood.

"Quor-Toth, the darkest of the dark realms. Which is full of little transparent squishy things that drink people from the inside." Dawn screws up her mouth. "Ick."

"Not full of them," he points out, "or an old man and a baby wouldn't have lasted long enough there for me to grow up. But there were plenty of monsters around." She notices the way he's squinching his shoulders and moves around behind him, puts her hands on them. "There are two ways to live in Quor-Toth."

"What do you mean?" Working at the knots.

"Everything in Quor-Toth is...well, demonic. Not everything is just a monster, though. Being smart can keep you alive. There are, sort of, people there. Sort of. Some of them work together, trust each other with their lives, sometimes even lose themselves in the group, because they have to."

"That's what you meant about Harmony, isn't it? Why you didn't want to turn your back on her?"

He hangs his head. She doesn't understand. "Yeah, in a way. It's hard for humans to show demons that kind of trust, though. Especially ones like D...like Holtz. And then there's the other way to survive. The way the monsters live, even some of the smart ones. Steal anything, betray everyone, kill anyone." He stops there, then plunges on. "Destroy."

"That's how Holtz raised you?" He hasn't told her this part before. He can see even beneath her sunglasses that her eyes have gone round.

"As soon as I was old enough. Once he saw what I could do. And I was...damned good at it. To Holtz, anything that wasn't human was hellspawn. It deserved worse than you could do to it anyway." Dawn squeezes his shoulders, and hard. It's barely enough to make a dent. "Let's just say I was pretty messed up."

"I can see why you hated Angel. And why you tried to blow yourself up after Jasmine."

"It wasn't just that with Dad, but yeah...part of. Funny thing. Jasmine was actually when I was finally starting to get better. I decided Holtz was wrong, and she was good, and it didn't really matter how someone looked, even if they had maggots crawling out of their eyes."

"You were right," Dawn tells him. He almost chokes before she can finish. "Jasmine wasn't evil because of how she looked. I mean, maggots, gross, but if she had actually been a good person, we should all have tried to get over it."

"Yeah." He turns around, facing her. "Anyway, I've betrayed too many people to just turn on Harmony like that. Only, maybe I should have. She eats people too."

"So did Angel. And she hasn't, not for three years now. She's been trying her hardest to be good, even when she kinda isn't."

"But she is still a vampire. It's in her nature, like Dad says."

Dawn brushes fingers along his left eyebrow. "You're the part-demon son of two vampires. I was made to destroy the universe. If that's all we are...if we can't be anything but our natures...don't you think we're both kinda screwed?"

"Huh. Maybe we are."

"Don't even say it."  
********  
Willow's not paying attention to the big strategy meeting. She's fielded a few questions, but her heart's not in it. There's something else she has to take care of, and baking cookies isn't getting her out of this one.

"Look, Chad, it's not her fault she's not some kind of dark warrior! Isn't that a _good_ thing?" she says into her cell phone. Willow has priorities. Willow's going to do the right thing this time. If that means leaving the room while everyone else argues, so be it.

"Isn't there some kind of work-around? Can you let her cheat? She wants this. She needs it! We can't go on having her lose her soul at the drop of a pair of earrings! Chad--!" Illyria is watching her, an uncomprehending but tolerant look in her eyes. As if Willow were a puppy nipping at her ankles--not that Illyria would allow that herself.

"Don't make me go over your head, Chad. I can speak to your superior...who? Oh. Oh. I...I'll get back to you. I am _not_ letting this go, you hear me!" She flips the phone shut. "Damn it!"

"Who is his superior," Illyria asks, "and why does this news make you feel helpless? You are...a significant force in this realm."

"Osiris," Willow says. "His superior's Osiris. We have bad stinky rotten history."

"Osiris can be very stubborn. Perhaps he was chosen for that reason. Allowing mortals to cheat death produces insubordination."

"You know him? Would you--?"

"We will not. Cursing a single half-breed is not an effective use of our time. Moreover, you have not considered the import of your own words--that there is always a price to be paid. Has it not occurred to you that the trials, however unfair you perceive them to be, may be the best price available?"

Illyria has a point, though Willow hates to admit it. She glares...then hesitates. "It's not a curse! We're talking about the full treatment here. Permanent soul, no take-backs."

"If a spirit foreign to what you are were implanted permanently within you, would you not consider that a curse?" Her tone is so matter-of-fact that Willow's resolve shatters. Illyria could make him do it, Willow is sure. She could...but she won't. "Why have you left the strategic discussion?"

"Because it's not going anywhere right now. Everyone's stuck on the same couple of ideas. I'm doing something that matters, even if it's just to one person. You gonna drag me back in?"

"That is what I was requested to do. But we concur with your assessment. We have no interest in endlessly repeating the same arguments."

"They're still talking about the same things, then?" Willow sighed.

"I can hear them repeating the same words. They radiate the same emotions, also. If there is something else you would rather do with your time, I will not detain you further."

Willow begins to nod, though she isn't sure what else she can do on her own now, and then something else occurs to her. Something she's been meaning to ask. "Illyria...why Xander? What's he to you? I don't like the way he treats you, but why keep pestering him when he hates you?"

Illyria's face freezes for a moment before she begins, "I have told you that he reminds me--"

"No. I don't buy that. Maybe it's true, but it's not enough, not for you. You're not that...that...petty." The question has nagged at her for months, ever since she noticed what the Old One was up to.

The expression on Illyria's face might be a rueful smile. It might be a grimace of fear. Neither seems to fit the occasion or the ex-god. Eventually..."Walk with me, Willow Rosenberg. I suspect you will understand soon enough in any case. You are too perceptive," she says grimly, and strides toward the stairs.

Willow hurries after her; Illyria never dawdles, except for effect sometimes. "Human myth," Illyria says, "speaks of a time when cockroaches will rule the world. How if you awoke to see that day? If they spoke to you? How if they offered you a place among them? Would you accept it?"

"We're still insects to you, then?" It fits most of Illyria's behavior, but not regarding Xander. "I was kinda hoping we'd made it at least up to amphibians by now."

The blue demoness halts, turning her head to regard Willow curiously. "We might have told such tales of humans. If we had had such tales at all. It was not from you that I fled into slumber. When Wesley spoke of humans ruling the earth, I saw that he believed his words, but I thought him deceived. Perhaps you were the slaves of the Wolf, Ram, and Hart, or of some other. Only in the gaps between us did you have room to cower, in our age."

"You've said this before." It's the same old boast-- _You are beneath me._ Illyria never lets that rest for long.

Illyria moves forward again, toward the door to her room. Dawn, she has said, is welcome inside, but no one else. And Dawn has never been in there either. "I could crush you to pulp if I desired," she states, "while you would be lucky to injure me even with your sorcery. Beside my intellect, you can scarcely be said to think at all. Humans worshipped us, and we sometimes deigned to notice you. I am in every way greater than you, Willow Rosenberg, and all of your kind." She opens the door. "Do you see the flaw?"

The red-haired witch stops to peer inside, but Illyria beckons her onward. "Flaw?" she says, trying not to squeak. Fred's bed is still here, but it has been shoved into a corner, seemingly unused. The walls have been repainted in broad, quivering streaks, in shades of midnight blue and indigo, and white flecks for stars across a narrow, ragged band of the black ceiling. No matter how Willow moves, and despite the adequate light, the illusion persists of some dark grotto beneath the earth. Three plasma screens flicker fitfully, their glimmer enhancing, rather than defeating, the image.

"It is not clear to you, then? We had expected better of you." Willow's steps carry her a little further, revealing a tiny alcove behind the door. A table there bears what seems to be a black light lamp, and--of all things--a ragged stuffed rabbit. Illyria clicks the lamp on, and equations scrawl themselves onto the nearest wall in fluorescent hues. "Fred Burkle was your equal, I think. She would have seen it. The fallacy. This room is my domain. What lies beyond its door?" Illyria's voice is taking on an edge, a tone of something Willow can hardly credit. Something startlingly like misery.

"The rest of the world? I...Oh!" Like suddenly seeing the truth of calculus. Or relativity. Or... "Humanity. Us."

"Yes." Illyria bites off the word bitterly. "Humanity. Some hybrids, of course, who bear your seeming. Some who hide their features and mimic your ways. A few monstrosities crawling unseen through your filth. You rule this world." Her fingers wrap around the back of a folding chair, digging in. "Even in slumber, I knew no defeat. I would rise again to grip the earth in my fists. And then I returned to find only dust. My army...my people...my children...my right hand. Gone. Your language lacks words for the terms in which I regarded them." Metal squeals and gives way, and Willow is abruptly not so certain about that last statement. " _I was their god._ And I failed them. I... _failed_." Illyria slumps over the chair. "By every measure I know, I am the strong and you are the weak. Yet those measures lie. I have known failure. _You_ rule the world, and it is I who cower in your shadows. What, then, am I now?"

"You..." Willow licks her lips, searching for words. She has the impending sense that Illyria is about to rip her to shreds. Or maybe kneel at her feet, and somehow that would be even worse. "You don't cower, Illyria. That's...that's crazy talk."

"I bluster," Illyria snarls. "I prate of my own importance. I have become small. I am the insect now, and so I must justify my existence. Yet I humiliate myself further with every word. And you go on your way, pretending that you do not see. Were I truly still what I claim to be, your towers of steel and glass would bow to me as I passed by."

This can lead nowhere good. "No one's pretending, Illyria. I can't tell you you're not less powerful than you were, because you are, and I...I'm sure it must suck. But the people who know what you still are really are afraid of you, and they really do believe you. You're the biggest big bad around, whether you realize it or not. And, well...what does this have to do with Xander? He's human. He's less than you either way you look at it." 

"He should be dead," mutters the ex-god. "Again, my measures fail--do you not see it? He is not only less than me--that is a given--he is less than you. Gunn, Wesley--these are dead. His former love is dead, and yours as well. Others whom you have drawn into your battles, all more than he is--dead. Even Buffy, who was your master and his, has fallen. Yet he lives. More, he dares to mock me. He alone sees through my deceit."

Willow attempts to retrieve her jaw from the floor. "Tell me I'm not hearing you right. You like him because he treats you like dirt? Because that's really kind of sick, even for a demon."

"No!" Illyria's composure seems to be returning. "His continued existence is a clue, a key to the power by which your people rule. How else should he remain? We believe he knows this. Once we have the secret of your strength--however loathsome it may be to us--we will take it for ourselves, and be once more supreme in this realm."

"Even though it'll contaminate you that much more? I mean, won't that make you more human?" The witch allows herself a faint smile. Smurfette has no idea what she's getting herself into.

"We are resolved to endure it, if it brings us dominion once more. But you will not allow this, will you? Therefore we must--"

"I'll help you," Willow breaks in before Illyria can do anything bone-crushy. "I'm not sure Xander knows it himself, not anymore. And it's not something you can be told. You have to experience it. But I can tell you this: once you know the secret of our power, you won't be the same. If you can learn it at all."

"I am capable of all things," Illyria insists. Predictably. Once you realize where she's coming from, it's not so hard. "And you cannot deter me. Do not try."

"All right," says Willow. "I guess we'll find out."  
********  
"... _Naanak naam charhdee kalaa_..." Andrew stops there in the doorway, trying to puzzle out the chant. It's not in any demonic language, though, and those are all he knows. Well...those and Klingon. "... _tayray bhaanay Sarbaht dah Phahla._ " Sadha, apparently finished, turns to look at him, revealing what looks like a huge dagger strapped to her belt. This would be a good time to run, he thinks, but his feet seem to be sort of frozen.

"It's called the Ardas," she tells him with an amused smirk. "It's a Sikh prayer for assistance. Considering the task I've been set, I think I need all I can get, wouldn't you say?" Oh.

"I, uh...you had me a little worried there for a second." His throat's still tight. "I mean, I hear some of the girls praying every now and then, but they're Slayers, not...and, um...what's the dagger for?"

She's still smiling. "Ceremonial and self-defense. It's called a kirpan. I suppose it's rather larger than average these days, so feel free to call me a traditionalist if you like. It's supposed to be one of five symbolic things I have on me at all times, but it's been a very long time since I really lived as a Sikh. Perhaps it's time I returned, eh?"

"Since you became a vam-pire." Confidence is starting to trickle back into his voice. That's good.

"No," Sadha says. "Since I became a Watcher. Or close as makes no difference. I started having other things on my mind."

"But you want to go back to it now?" Andrew is trying not to look at her, but she hasn't really furnished the room, or even unpacked. Which makes sense, he guesses. "You, um...have a point about needing help if you're going to be Dena's Watcher. I even turned down Regan when I heard the two of them had been assigned to work together. Being a Watcher _might_ have kept Dena off my case, but I don't think Phil would want to stay here without me, and a Slayer doesn't need a truck to drag you by the ankles if she gets it in her head."

"I see. Well, we can't have that going on, can we?" the vampire says coldly. "That wasn't in her file."

Andrew shakes his head. "Not right out, but if you know what you're looking for...she scares me."

"That's fairly obvious. You really must learn to conceal your emotions if you want to Watch effectively, Andrew." Sadha looks over at the pair of files on her bed. "I don't think Regan would have been suitable for you either. She needs someone to push her."

"Giles wants me to take on someone in Chicago. I haven't had the chance to read up on her yet. Maybe now that the planning's over for the night.... What was your first Slayer like? I'm, uh...it'll be my first time."

For a few moments, she doesn't answer him. When she does, she speaks crisply, not so much remembering as reciting. "Shefali was Dalit...what you call an 'untouchable', trained almost from birth to clean others' filth, and to stay out of her so-called betters' way. The Brahmins--most of the native Watchers, in those days, were Brahmin--could barely stand to be in her presence. The British were little better, overwhelming her with more concern and care than she'd received in a lifetime. My family, though.... In theory, Sikhs are supposed to ignore caste distinctions. Ideas like that are rarely lived out in practice as well as they should be, but it was a place to start. So they gave her to me."

Sadha gradually seems to realize that she's still standing, and takes a seat on the bed. "Better. Feel free to sit. Being a Slayer was almost a vacation for Shefali, not that she'd have understood the concept of time off. At times, I actually had to make her stop training and rest. I told Buffy last night that Shefali was more mature at thirteen than Buffy is now, and that was truth, but not in the way I meant her to take it. Shefali had hardly been allowed to be a child.. She lasted three years as one of the most dedicated Slayers on record."

Andrew finally speaks to fill the long pause after this. "What happened? Did she burn out?"

"In a way, I suppose she did. The Rakshasa Rebellion...never mind that. It's been a very long time, Andrew, and I don't feel like rehashing her death now. It wouldn't be of any help to you, and I have enough regrets from my time as a vampire. You understand?" He nods to her. She must blame herself somehow. "Is there anything else?"

"Oh...yeah. Sorry. Giles sent me to ask if you were hungry. Wouldn't want to freak out any of the girls." She'd gotten him totally distracted.

"I've already eaten tonight, but tell him I said thank you." Sadha offers a strangely devilish smile. "He's a good man, Andrew. Tell him I said to watch Ada. I believe she's not as friendly to him as she pretends. Her scent...I think Rupert has enemies on the new Council that he may not be aware of."

"He knows. The Wyndham-Price party's all cloak-and-dagger with him. But thanks, and...good luck with the praying."

She goes all game-face on him, suddenly. "I'll need it, won't I? Thank you." Shifting back, she makes shooing motions. "Go get some rest, you young whipper-snapper, and let your elders have theirs. We have another long night ahead of us."

"Um, yeah. I'll do that." Sadha's nothing like Spike, nothing like Angel. Of course not...she's herself, not them. Andrew just wishes she didn't creep him out so much.  
********  
The first sign that something is different comes when he lands on his feet. Last time Angel visited the Conduit, he came slamming down on his side, and that was with vampire agility working for him. This time, it's not even that much of a drop. The exit's still missing, though.

"Hello?" he calls, hoping not to be shoved into the chamber's walls.

"I thought you might come here," says Xander's voice, off to the left, and now that empty spot isn't so empty anymore.

"Looking for answers, huh?" says Willow, sitting on the square block in the room's center. "I guess we can give you some."

"Though in all honesty," says Giles, now standing where Xander was a moment ago, "we thought it should all be rather obvious."

"I don't need answers," Angel insists. "I need you to turn time back, like the Oracles did last time I was human."

"Not gonna happen," says a voice from the block. Willow has faded out, leaving Andrew in her place. "Temporal mechanics is a pain in the butt, don't you think?"

"And, no," says Dawn, "we're not the First Evil. Chill already. You're different now, so we can be different with you. Anyone who walks in the living world is fair game."

"So this place is different because I'm not a vampire? But I'm not your champion any more either, and you need a champion, right? So you need to change things back to the way they were. You need me."

"We've had many champions," says Sadha. "You're not the first."

"Nor the last," Buffy finishes. "Your journey has come to an end. Enjoy your life. It's what you wanted, right?"

"Wait," Angel says, confused. "You're not--"

"Living?" Lilah asks. "No, but that's not what we said, is it? Good thing you never had to argue a case in court."

"It's a free will thing," says Dawn. "Think of it as time share. If you could be totally certain which side you were talking to..."

"...it'd be way too easy," Faith finishes.

Angel stalks around the center block towards her. "Look, we're in the middle of an apocalypse here! It doesn't matter what I want. I can't just sit around, I've got to help stop this thing! I _-need_ to be a vampire again!"

"Adversarial," Andrew says.

Willow looks at Andrew, smirking cheekily. "Confrontational."

"He must be--" Xander stops mid-sentence. "Never mind, he doesn't get it. I'll say it again, Angel. Your journey's come to an end. Over, stopped, done with. You're human. It's time to live that life you've been after all these years."

"You wanted a reward," says Buffy. "Now you've got it."

"The shanshu? I signed it away!"

"The shanshu was always something we chose to give you," Illyria tells him patiently, "or not. Whether the prophecy refers to you is irrelevant."

"It's your life," Angel says to Angel, "and you can do whatever you want with it. But we're not taking it away again. Sorry to disappoint you."

"How can my journey be over?" Angel erupts, kicking the central block. "I said we're having an apocalypse!"

"There is always an apocalypse," says Giles with a shrug, "and all journeys end the same way."

A doorway appears in the wall. "Don't come back here," says Connor. "You said it yourself: you're not our champion any more."

The last figures fade away. Angel waits there a little while, hoping for one more word. But there is nothing. Finally he steps out into the sunlight, and the door vanishes behind him.

"That boy," Andrew says, "was our last hope."

Only a faint breeze stirring the dust answers.


	9. If Immortality Unveil

Rating: PG (violence; a bit of nasty language at the end)

Disclaimer: None of the characters in this fic belong to me, but to Joss Whedon.

Setting: Roughly a month after NFA (aside from the frame story)

Beta: KingofCretins

Prequel to DeadWar-the siring of Buffy Summers...

My life closed twice before its close;

It yet remains to see

If Immortality unveil

A third event to me,

So huge, so hopeless to conceive,

As these that twice befell.

Parting is all we know of heaven,

And all we need of hell.

-Emily Dickinson

"Buffy," she says, and Buffy's eyes spring open.

"Mom?"

Joyce smiles down at her daughter and pats her gently on the arm with a cool hand. "Yes, sweetie. I'm here."

"I thought...I mean, I could have sworn you were dead." Buffy struggles out of the sheets. "I mean...I think...what happened? Is this a dream?"

"Yes," Joyce says to her. "Or no. Does it matter?"

Buffy scrambles up to wrap her arms around her mother, then takes a deep breath. "Only if you were a zombie," she says with a grin, "and you don't smell all rotten."

"Well. That's good to know."

"I think I'd still give you a hug and talk a little while even if you were. If you could talk to me, anyway." She doesn't want to let go, not ever. "I miss you."

"I miss you too," Joyce tells her, and kisses her on the forehead. "But we'll be together again soon."

"Um. You mean relatively speaking, right?" Buffy glances at the bed to see if she's lying on it still, finding it empty save for the rumpled sheets. "Sorry. Premonitions of death-not the Slayer's best friend."

Joyce giggles, white teeth gleaming in the nightlight's glow. "Silly Buffy. I know it's hard on you, being what you are." She tries to turn toward the door, but Buffy clings to her, holding her immobile with greater-than-human strength. "Come along with me," she tells her daughter. "Let's walk a little while there's time. Forget the Slayer and be my daughter, just for a few minutes."

The door shouldn't lead outside. Buffy can't remember for sure where it goes, but not out into the chilly night air. Definitely a dream. Should she know that? She leans on Joyce a little, trying to keep her close. Sometimes in dreams, people fade out and you forget they were there. "Are you in heaven?" she asks. She doesn't really remember what heaven was _like_ , not in the harps-and-clouds sense, just that it was peace.

"No," Joyce tells her. "I'm not. You should know that."

Buffy tries to stop, but her mother is determined to keep moving, and this time Buffy can't seem to hold her still. "I...I mean, right, you're here with me now, but you came from heaven to see me?"

"No, Buffy." Her mother turns, looks into her eyes. "I didn't come from heaven. I miss you. You left me, and it's not heaven with you gone. I'm alone. I'm all alone in the cold earth."

"Mom! You can't...you're not supposed to..." What can she say to that? "I didn't mean to leave, I'm sorry! I thought... What do I need to do? I'll make it better, I...I promise!"

When did they pass through the cemetery gates? The old one, closed and up on the hill? It's a dream, though. They're passing by tombstones, most of them faded with age. Or a nightmare. "You can't fix this, Buffy. There's only one thing you could do, and I won't let you do it, not even to get me out of hell."

Hell? Buffy has no words for this, no quips, puns, or jokes. "I'll do whatever I have to for that, Mom. I can't leave you like that. I can't leave you alone, not in...in hell? Oh god, Mom. How could you expect me not to help you?"

One last tombstone, facing away from the town. And an open grave at its foot. "I can't ask you to come back to me, Buffy. That's not fair to you."

"I can't not. It's not fair to leave you." Buffy swallows and moves toward the pit in the earth. Something...wasn't this...she's not really here somehow... What was she thinking about? "Do what you have to do."

"If this is really what you want, dear..."

"It is. Do it."

"Somehow I thought you'd say that." It's not her mother's voice.

Teeth sink into Buffy's neck like cold needles, drawing the warmth and feeling from her feet, her hands.

The arms that wrap around her waist are pale and cold. Not her mother's at all...someone smaller. Dark red nails carve redder lines across a wrist. Drusilla's nails, Drusilla's wrist... _Wake up, wake up..._ Buffy's arms refuse her commands to shake the vampire loose.

The dream shimmers.

_Time to wake up._

*****

Dana jackknifes upwards from the bed, screaming her lungs out. One Slayer each grabs an arm; the third, at her head, seizes her by the shoulders and pushes. "Watch the legs!" "Hold on, hold on!" "Don't let her up!" They wrestle her, shrieking, into the straps that are present for just this purpose and, once that's done, inject her with sedative.

"Is she like this often?" Jennifer is the newest of them at this task, which they rotate out of from time to time.

"She's been getting worse," says Tammy. "Ever since Buffy."

Yolanda nods sadly. "Slayer dreams."

*****

It's been centuries since Angel slept like this. Sweating. Heart pounding. His arms and legs thrash beneath the sheets.

Through all the long years there have been rivers of blood...tentacled obscenities...demonic forms that stink of rotten flesh or ammonia. Angel has become familiar with nightmares.

This one is worse.

*****

"Where is she, Dru? What have you done with Buffy?" Angel needs to believe he's not too late. Not that the universe has ever cared what he needs. Tracing her path from Buffy's room has taken two days already.

Drusilla moans softly through her fangs. "Went down like sunshine all the way to my belly. Burning." Fingernails slide down her sternum. "She thought the same of me."

iNo.../i But he can still save her from the rest, at least. "You have no idea what you're playing with here, Drusilla. Where is she? Somewhere in that cracked skull of yours, you must know I can't let Buffy rise." Legend said turned Slayers were monstrously violent and unpredictable. Angelus had tried taking that risk with Faith, once-certain he knew which way she'd bounce-but there'd never been much mystery about what was underneath Faith's shell of control. There was darkness in Buffy-just like everyone else-but far more tangled with Slayer duties and the kind of guilt a vampire could never feel. No telling what would become of her, allowed to wake.

"Why, Daddy? Why must I be all alone?" She stamps her feet and pouts like a small child, sniffling. "First you went away. Then you took Grandmum-took her from me twice!-and let her die. And _she_ took my William from me and let him burn. Saw the sun take him. Saw the dragon too. Sss." Her hand flicks upward to seize him by the throat. "I hear my daughter calling me. Won't let you have her now. Won't be alone again, not ever."

Angel struggles to pry her fingers loose, one after the next. He's stronger than her-always has been-but Drusilla's obsessions give her a kind of ferocity even Angelus was hard-pressed to match at times. "Dru...listen to me, just this one time. Daddy wants what's best for-"

Earth fountains upward, the ground erupting almost beneath their feet. "Baby's awake," Drusilla crows, and tosses Angel casually into a pillar tombstone. "She'll want feeding. Such a hungry girl she is."

Dazed, he lifts his head in time to see Buffy, nightgown hanging askew, sidle up behind Drusilla. Buffy's lips part in a mirthless grin. "Want," she says. "Take." Drusilla starts to turn, smiling beatifically over her shoulder. "Have," Buffy finishes. And buries her fangs in Drusilla's neck.

Drusilla twists, wrenching her way free, opening a great gash across her shoulder. "Baby dearest, what-?" Buffy's fists send her hurtling over Angel's head; he hears bone smack against the marble above him.

Buffy advances on him, her face a mask of fury and dismay. "All I ever wanted," she grates, "was to be a normal girl, damn you." She glances between him and Drusilla, blame setlling on each of them. "You made her," Buffy accuses. "This is your fault." He tries to rise, not bothering to deny it, and she kicks him in the groin. "But you'll keep."

He struggles through the pain, fighting to reach his feet. Drusilla is trying to scoot away on her back, two legs and an arm working, the other held tight to her side. "You're supposed to run," Buffy says, and hauls Dru to her feet by the broken arm. "It's no _fun_...if you don't _run_. Isn't that how it's supposed to be?"

With a snarl, Angel grabs Buffy from behind. "Dru...if there's a shred of sanity anywhere in you...help me. She has to be stopped, now, before this goes any further." But Drusilla only whines and cradles her arm.

"God," says Buffy, and he's surprised to hear the hurt in her voice. "You're siding with her? Against me?" He's hundreds of years old; Buffy is a fledgeling, barely even fed. He's supposed to be the stronger. She twists free of his grip as if he were a child. "You never cared about me at all, did you?"

"I'm so sorry," he tells her. "I tried to find you, to save you. I would never have let this happen to you if I could have stopped it. I'll always care about you. But I can't let you go on like this, either. If that means accepting help from Drusilla...then that's what I have to do."

Buffy shakes her head, denying his words. "I can...I want to hurt her, Angel. I want to _slay_ her. I can do this. I can keep it under control, I swear." She swallows hard. "I feel...I still feel like me. Am I me?"

"No," Angel says sadly. "You're not. And I can't trust you, no matter how much I wish I could. You can't 'keep it under control' because there isn't any you to do the controlling." Drusilla, he realizes, has slipped away through the tombstones. He'll have to manage this on his own. Somehow.

"When you lost your soul the first time," she insists, "I couldn't kill you. Not yet. If you still feel anything for me-"

"I know better than you did," Angel tells her, "because I've already been there. You didn't understand what it meant, not really. I...Angelus wanted to make you suffer. When you didn't stake him then and there, he _laughed_ at you, Buffy, because you were weak. I can't afford to make that mistake with you."

"It really is that simple, isn't it?" Pain flickers over her face like firelight. "Everything's simple. Black and white. Good and evil. Vampire and human." Buffy shivers, and a smile flashes over her lips just as quickly. "It's all so clear. But I can decide, Angel. I have to be able to choose. I don't feel any different."

Angel moves closer, pulling the stake from inside his jacket. "Except that nothing was ever simple to Buffy." He remembers that clarity. They all see it differently...but it's the same experience. "Buffy...if there is anything left of you in there...then there's really only one thing you can do to prove it." She looks up at him as he draws near, expression filling with hope. He breaks that hope, as cleanly as he can. "Close your eyes."

Her face twists, then. Not the rage he expected. Only pain. Buffy roars and slams her palms into his chest, tossing him like a stuffed doll. Marble cracks against his skull, but this time he leaps to his feet. He can't stop, not even for an instant. She's already behind him, though. "You lie," she says in his ear. "I can beat you. I can prove you wrong. And I will." The stake he brings around at her shatters on hard stone. Buffy is gone.

That's how the nightmare begins.

*****

Simple images

Cain to her Abel, Caleb says

Cain raises the rock, and Abel turns

shearing knife in his hand

always knew you hated me been waiting for this moment you fucker

drives the knife into Cain's guts

Cain is avenged sevenfold

says Buffy

But I am avenged seventy times seven

Faith lies there in the dust

nothing left but dust

a world of dust

choking

bolt upright in bed

"Damn." They just keep getting worse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It was at this point that I was persuaded that it was "more professional" to write in past tense. Yet there's an immediacy to the writing in present tense that I've found is lost in past tense. I used this dream chapter to transition without going back and revising everything. I'm changing everything hereafter to present tense.


	10. Transits

Disclaimer: All original characters, and the DeadWar concept, are mine. The Buffyverse and all its characters belong to Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy.

Rating: PG

Setting: A few days after "Strangers on the Bus"

Beta: KingofCretins

"You have conquered, and I yield. Yet, henceforward art thou also dead -- dead to the World, to Heaven and to Hope! In me didst thou exist -- and, in my death, see by this image, which is thine own, how utterly thou hast murdered thyself."  
\--"William Wilson", Edgar Allan Poe

A blond girl chases a blond girl through the cemetery, and a third blond girl pursues them both.

Dodging through the lines of tombstones, Nina gradually begins to catch up to the pair despite the obstacle course. There are worse things than being a Slayer, she believes, responsibility or no responsibility. _Now if I could just fly,_ she thinks. That'd complete the super-hero package.

The girl in the lead totters briefly as she stumbles over some unseen obstacle, wavers, and goes down. _Now or never._ Nina takes a deep breath and bursts into a sprint; she'd been on the track team before she knew what a Slayer was. Not even most Slayers can match her now.

The first girl's pursuer growls; Nina catches a glimpse from the side as the vampire shifts into game face. Leaping a tombstone, she flips a stake out of the hidden pocket up her sleeve and comes down hard on vamp-girl's back. The twin impact as Nina thuds first into the vampire, then the ground beneath her, jars her teeth, and then she's rolling over to face the demon's victim.

"Thanks," the girl says, fangs blurring her speech just slightly. "Jessie's been, like, nutzoid ever since she got her soul back. It's bad enough having Superslayer Buffy out there without your spawn trying to dust your ass." The vampire stretches out a hand to her as Nina stares. "I've been trying to stay low--that lame pig's blood in bags tastes like tomato soup after a few months, but there's nothing else in this sucky popsicle stand of a town--not that Jessie cared."

"She had a soul?" Nina's stomach turns. Did that make her a murderer? Dazed, she takes the girl's hand and is pulled to her feet. "And--"

"Did she ever!" The vampire overrides her next question. "Couldn't stop rambling on about how awful she felt for like three months. Then she, like, vanished for a couple weeks, and just when we thought she'd walked into the sun she showed up and started killing left and right. Like having a soul made her better than us, y'know? It's been a year since I actually killed anyone, see, what with the big Slayer army deal, but Jessie's all, blah demonspawn monstercakes, die die die, and..."

"She was killing vampires?" Nina leans against a tombstone, trying not to freak out. She's killed a real champion, apparently, and saved Jessie's soulless sire, who sounds pretty dangerous in spite of her valley-girl accent and fear of Slayers.

"Not just vampires," the girl says, "all kinds of stuff. Bunch of wimpy spiny purple demons a couple days ago...an M'Fashnik or two before that...and last week she ate a car thief, two streetwalkers, and a pot dealer. Whiny little hypocrite. You okay? If you hadn't helped me just then she might've got me. I was, like, trying to tell her hitting the jail tomorrow was a stupid move, how Slayers get all pissy when you kill humans, even scuzzy ones, but she wouldn't listen to me. I owe you one. Hey, what's with you?"

Nina just wants her head to stop spinning.  
********  
Tabitha is begging for her life again. The demons in the basement are angry--as usual--and Tabitha's going to have to do something even more evil to stop them from killing her. The witch sometimes seems unhappy being evil, but there's just no way for her to stop. It's too late for her.

Harmony can relate. She's still locked in her room two days after losing her soul--again!--with nothing to do but watch soap operas and drink the yucky pig's blood Willow brings her. There's no sign of the missing Orbs of Chocula (or whatever they were called), and Willow is having trouble finding the consecrated crystal she needs to make more. "Supply and demand," she'd said. Harmony isn't sure she wants her soul back anyway, but it's the only way she's ever going to be allowed to leave. Unless they just give up and dust her.

Timmy begins to make whiny protests about being used as a speed bump. Harmony sniffles. Timmy had always been a favorite of her Blondie Bear. Not many guys would watch soap opera--or admit to it, anyway--but somehow she'd persuaded Spike to try it, and he'd startled her by getting all excited over _Passions_. He hadn't seen an episode in two years, and now he'll never see another. He's down in the basement with the demons now.

The footsteps in the hallway stop, and someone begins to rattle the padlock. Harmony glances at the clock. It's not lunch time yet. Dawn has come to see her a couple of times, but only in the afternoon. She inhales deeply to test the scent, whimpers, and rolls off the other side of the bed to hide. Faith's home from the hospital, and boy is she pissed. Angry Slayer means badness.

"Harm!" The door swings open. "Where the hell are you? You're late!" Late? "Harm, I can tell you're in here somewhere. You might as well come out." Reluctantly, Harmony peers over the bed's edge. "What the hell?"

"You don't have a stake," Harmony mumbles. Maybe Faith means to behead her.

"Not in my hand." Faith shrugs, produces one from a pocket, and puts it back. "I'm back. It's training time, and you're not in the gym. You can't learn to fight watching... _Passions_? That stuff rots your brain, dontcha know?"

"I lost my soul during the fight." Maybe Faith's forgotten that. She'd been out cold somewhere around that point, hadn't she? Harmony stands up, still nervous. "I've been locked in my room ever since. It's a good thing I never have to pee, you know. This toilet doesn't work."

"Right, so?" Faith studies her face. "This ain't a jail cell. Two punches would get you through the door. Maybe four or five through the outside wall, if you wanted to just leave."

"What's the point? They'd only hunt me down. I'd be a...a fugitive, like in the movies."

"Maybe they would," Faith says doubtfully. "Starting to look like a war zone out there at night. But I guess they might."

"You think they'd let me go?"

"I wouldn't. I told you--you're late for sparring practice. You've actually been makin' some progress lately, and I'm not gonna let you backslide. Maggot." Faith winks at her. "Maggot" is some kind of joke on Kennedy; Faith never really uses it during training.

"Um, maybe you didn't hear that--"

"I heard." Faith sits down on the bed. "But here you are. Like I said...you coulda been gone by now. If that was what you wanted. And the day you get good enough to take me, I'll have blue hair and bifocals, so no...not worried."

"Maybe when Willow gets an Orb finished, we can--"

"No," says Faith. "Now. Look at me, Harm. I'm a killer. I belong in jail, or dead. But I'm not. You know why? Cause someone took a chance on me. It's time I passed the favor on." She tosses the padlock to the floor. "You're out of solitary now."

With a faint shiver, Harmony steps around the bed. "Angel isn't going to like this."

"Angel," says Faith, "can kiss your vampire ass." Harmony giggles nervously in spite of herself. "Your soul will keep. Hell...maybe you'll get it back yourself, make your Blondie Bear proud."

"What, a zillion years from now?"

"You got plenty of time."  
********  
They walk into Club Gremarye like they own the place, three vampires in leather pants and studded jackets. There are demon bars where that look might work; this isn't one of them. Patrons clad in tuxedos and evening gowns gawk at them. Here, elegance rules the night, a glittering veneer over bloodlust and carnage.

"Can I help you, sir?" the hostess asks archly. They are obviously young, and would be lucky to be thrown out on their ears. This is a place for older vampires with a taste for luxury, and for their few favored pets.

"Yeah," the foremost of them sneers back, hefting a sawed-off shotgun. "You can die."

The hostess fights the urge to roll her eyes. "Sir, you should know that won't--" The blast takes her head off, spattering the nearest table with her dust.

"This one's for Eddie, you soulless fucks!" The middle intruder produces an incendiary grenade from beneath her jacket, hurling it away across the aisle. "Stinkin' monsters think you can get away with blowing up our kind? Got no guilt about killin' you proper this time!"

Clubgoers blur into motion, diving beneath tables or racing to toss the grenade away (even as more began to arc through the air) or charging towards the invaders. The shotgun booms again, then clatters as its wielder reloads it at superhuman speed. The third of the group has produced flares by this time, covering his gun-toting ally with sputtering streams of orange fire. A dangling cage's chains rip free as a stray burst of shot strikes the ceiling; the human victims inside shriek briefly as it drops onto the table below, smacking bones against metal bars.

"You ain't nothin'!" The grenade-thrower's supply exhausted, she ducks back through the door as the first of the charges go off, spraying the room with light and heat and the sharp stink of thermite. A dozen vampires, caught too close, char to ash in an instant. Half a dozen more go down flailing at their burning clothes. The two remaining intruders begin to retreat toward the door as well, intent on escaping before the entire building catches fire.

Rationally speaking, the souled invaders ought not to get away. By this time, though, no one in Club Gremarye is thinking rationally. Caught in a twilight haze of instinct and self-preservation, the majority of them blunder toward the nearest exits or away from wherever they feel too much heat. Compared to the single, unexpected blast that had taken out Lois' bar, the casualties are surprisingly low; doors may be lost in the smoke, and night vision blinded by the infrared glare of fire, but when all else fails a vampire can batter its way through the walls.

Forgotten in the chaos, the humans intended for that night's meal roast screaming in their cages.  
********  
"What's he doing here?" Anne's electronic voice buzzes and rasps amidst the everyday sounds of dinner at the mission. "I specifically told you not to bring him, Willow."

_Right,_ Xander thinks gloomily. _Soul or no soul, she's hiding something from me._ She'd been a nice girl once, if not very clueful, and it's a shame she's ended up this way. Still...he can put up with one vampire in order to serve homeless people their soup.

"Anne, you can't run this place by yourself from a wheelchair." Willow sounds more reasonable than she has lately, perhaps because there's nothing strictly supernatural about Anne's current problem. Except Anne herself. "Especially not when you're stuck inside in the daytime. You need help, and Xander needs to be here. I'll keep him from making trouble, I promise."

Why would he make trouble? He's promised--very, very reluctantly--not to try staking any of the vampires who were helping out with the slaying, so long as they have souls and continue to be useful. Maybe Anne doesn't fall strictly into the category of Watcher/Slayer-assistant, but a place like this...well, it's worth keeping open regardless. People have to eat.

"You'd better," Anne grumbles, turning her chair and whirring off toward a table without another word.

Xander looks up, expecting to see Willow glowering at him, and promptly drops the ladle into the soup kettle. The next girl in line isn't exactly a girl. For a moment, his brain screams _vampire_ , fooled by the brow ridges. But they're smooth, not corrugated, and the girl's face is a muddy grey color he's never seen on anything living or undead. Combine that with the effect of her emaciated frame, and he's looking at death walking. Maybe literally. A demon might be anything, do anything, no matter how helpless this one seems.

She watches him drop the ladle, and her face falls too. She slumps, hopeless, against the table. If she's getting ready to tear him apart, she has a funny way of preparing for it. Before he can say anything, the demon gathers herself and looks into his eyes. "Please, I just want some food. Please."

The line is backing up. The nearest volunteer--a large black man carrying a new canister of tea--glares at Xander as he sets it down. "Serve or get out of the way," he growls under his breath. "Nobody goes hungry here."

"Nobody, huh?" The truth is, he was about to pick up the ladle again, but now Xander feels defensive. "Not even demons?"

The other assistant rolls up his sleeve, revealing bite marks. "Couple weeks ago, Buffy barges into LA, shakes up the food chain in vampire town. Folks at the bottom rungs got kicked off the regular channels. This's from Miss Anne. You need food around here, you ask nice and you get it. End of story."

"And if it'd been a vampire _without_ a soul?"

"It asks nice, we get bags and take up a collection. Ain't none of them asked nice yet." There's impatience building up in his voice. "I told you. Serve or get out of the way."

Xander looks back at the line. The demon girl has begun unbuttoning her threadbare blouse. "I'll pay," she whispers. "If you won't feed me, at least feed my daughter. I can pay you if you want."

He swallows hard. Even if she were human, there's nothing there he's interested in. "No need," he mumbles guiltily, and scoops up a generous helping of soup. "Sorry for the trouble."

The big assistant picks up an empty canister. "Good. Don't go losin' the mission, bro. More tea!" What was that about? Xander shrugs, baffled, as the other guy carries the canister away.

Willow pushes her way through the line and behind the table. "What do you think you're doing?" she hisses. "These people are hungry, and they're waiting."

"Sorry, Will...bit of confusion there." He keeps scooping, trying to hurry. "No offense intended, but--what are they?"

"Refugees," she says testily. "This group's from the Ozarks, they're just passing through on their way out of the country. Things got too hot in Arkansas. Yes, they're demons. Lister demons are totally harmless. They've been persecuted for centuries because they're too close to human. Think on that next time you're tempted to hold up the line 'cause of someone's face."

Xander flushes red. "They're why you wanted me here. And why Anne didn't."

Willow nods, still glaring. "Think you can treat them like people? Or are they just so much walking garbage to you?"

"I..." Xander ladles out another helping of soup. "Sorry, Will. I...I've been a real pain lately, haven't I?"

She sighs. "I'll go tell Anne she was wrong." Willow turns to leave. "You've got a soul after all."  
********  
Some soup kitchens make the Smooth'n'Easy look upscale. Enid sneers at the pathetic excuses for vampires lined up at the doorway tonight. There are those who say animal-feeders are the lowest of the low; she begs to differ. These creatures have prey in their grasp and let it go--not to toy with it, most nowadays not even to preserve their food supply, but to assuage their oh-so-guilty souls. Slinking filth, and hypocrites as well.

Enid draws forth her blade, and watches her band of warriors follow suit. "I need tell none of you of the threat these creatures represent to us. Not only to our existence, but to our purity, for they expect us to follow in their trail. I say we will not bend nor bow to the demands of the ensouled or their Slayer champion." There is a brief chorus of subdued cheers. "We will not let another weak fool like Edwin strike us down. We will drown them in their own cowards' blood." More cheering. Some of the scum on the street below begin to look up. No more time for speeches.

"Smite, stab, and slay!" Enid shrieks, and leaps from the roof. Tonight is going to be _fun_.  
********  
"Angel." No response. "Angel," Giles repeats, "I really do need to speak with you."

Angel raises the bottle of beer and takes another swig. "Not sure who you're talking to, Giles. No one here by that name."

A few days ago, Giles might have responded badly to that announcement. Now.... "I must confess I have no idea what you're talking about."

"The truth of the matter, Giles, is Angel's dead." He rises from the bench and paces to the trash can, dropping the empty bottle in, then heads back. Giles steps between him and the bench; Angel lurches to a stop just before the two can collide. "I'm not Angel, Giles. He died in that graveyard. I'm just a guy who was supposed to pass on a couple of hundred years ago."

"Yet here you are." Giles slides the carton away as Angel reaches for another bottle. "You're not dead, and this fight is not over."

Angel scoffs. "It is for me." He tries to step closer to the beer and bumps into Giles, who takes him by the shoulders and shakes him roughly.

"I was given to understand Liam enjoyed a good fight. If you were Liam, you wouldn't walk away from this."

Angel tries to shove Giles aside; too unsteady on his feet, he loses his balance and sits down hard on the bench again. "This isn't a bar brawl. It's a war. Never cared much for those."

This time when he reaches for the beer, Giles shoves the carton away. It skids off the table, crashing to the linoleum in a puddle of glass and alcohol. "Call yourself what you like, Angel. You cannot simply walk away from this, nor may you drink yourself into a stupor at my expense. Does Buffy mean so little to you? Does humanity?"

The former vampire glares up at him through bloodshot eyes. "I'm the man who became Angelus. What do you think?"

"I think that you are a good person. I think you still have skills that would be worth a great deal to the world, could you only be bothered to use them. I think you're too important to be drinking your new life away in a communal dining hall." Giles sighs. "But perhaps I'm wrong. Perhaps I'm wasting my time. A Watcher has to be more than some common sot."

Angel begins to choke out laughter. "You've got to be kidding."

"You have more experience with the demon world than almost anyone alive, Angel. Or Liam, if you prefer. You have knowledge, you have skill in a fight, and you know how to train others. It seems you prefer not to use it. I suppose we'll just have to leave this one to Wolfram and Hart."

Finally. Angel peers up at Giles with something like curiosity. "She wants to work for Wolfram and Hart?"

Giles shrugs. "I'm honestly not certain what Brittany wants. They seem to want her, and she appears to prefer law school to fighting demons."

"So she's just going to ignore her calling?" From Angel's frown, that possibility seems to genuinely disturb him.

"If someone doesn't get her attention, I suppose she will. I've been unable to get through to Brittany, but you might reach her. You know what it's like to waste away in an office when you were meant for something more." He retrieves the folder he'd left on the counter and hands it over, open to a picture. "Besides...I believe you knew her Aunt Lilah."  
********  
"It doesn't have to be like this," Gabriel says, concentrating on the road. Without headlights, he'd be able to see much better; the contrast interferes with his night vision. It's getting late, though, and he doesn't want to be pulled over. Still being on the road at sunrise would be problematic.

"What if I like it this way?" Michelle asks dubiously. "Look, I know you'd never have woke me otherwise, but you've got to get over this fear of violence. What's a soul, really?" She flicks on the radio, searching for music.

Gabriel sighs. "I hope you'll find out one day. In the meanwhile, look yourself over again. I want you to have a chance at living, Michelle, not get turned to dust because you got into a fight you couldn't handle. You're still too weak for that kind of life." The sky is starting to lighten. He needs to find them a motel soon.

"So where's this magical place where everything's _safe_?" Her voice is filled with a scorn he's never heard from her before. She'll learn.

"From what I've heard?" He takes the next exit. "Chicago." Let her chew on that awhile.  
********  
Screaming like a banshee, Harmony hurtles out of the air at Faith, fists up and ready, and comes down square on the stake.

With a dismayed gasp, she rolls sideways and topples to the floor, not expecting to land. Naturally shes not prepared to land solidly--and solid--on her butt. Can't she even die right? There's a grinding pain radiating out of her chest, and after a few more moments of that she reaches up and took hold of the stake. It feels like plastic, and she yanks it out. The wound doesn't close right up, not like the time she had that neat ring, but it starts to heal.

"Harm," Faith says impatiently, "how many times have I told you to quit worrying about your damn acrobatics until you have the basics right?" She plucks the fake stake out of Harmony's fingers. "You told me you wanted to learn to fight the right way, so I'm gonna teach you. This point, I'm thinking that means consequences when you screw up."

"Y-you staked me!"

"Good grasp of the obvious, which means _you're still in one piece_. Coulda been the real thing, you know?" Faith hauls her to her feet. "Two things, then--first, you gotta quit jumping around. Maybe one day, when you've got your head straight, that shit'll give you an edge. Right now, it's just an opening for the other guy. Second, where's your game face?"

"It's not real," Harmony says. "We're just sparring. I don't have to look intimidating, and it's not like I need to bite you or anything." Faith rolls her eyes.

"Oh yes you do." Harmony stares at her, dumbfounded. "Let's get something straight, Harm. Every fight is real. You may be hard to kill, fine. But you can break an arm or a leg, you can get your chest caved in, and yes, you can even get staked or have your head cut off. I'm not gonna kill you, not on purpose, but anyone can have accidents, even a vampire, and even a Slayer. And since every fight is real, you use the weapons you've got. You've got fangs. Get them out. You don't have to try to bite me every second, but you can make me worry about it."

Harmony vamps out, still looking just as confused. "I didn't think you'd want me to."

"And that matters to you?" Faith frowns. "I wouldn't have...hey, third thing, no cell phone." An inappropriately-merry ring tone emanates from Harmony's pocket.

"Sorry," Harmony says. "But in a real fight, I'd have my cell phone in case of emergency. Who's that?" She peers questioningly at the display. "Hello?"

"Yeah, but you wouldn't _answer_." Faith gives up. "Who is it?" Harmony's eyes are wide, her hands shaking. Game face or no game face, she looks about as scary as a rabbit running for cover.

"That's right," Harm says in her best confident voice. "I'm still here." She pokes awkwardly at the volume button, still trembling.

Buffy's voice emerges from the speaker, quiet but perfectly recognizable. "Wow. How many of them did you kill?" The tone carries a malicious sort of excitement. "I didn't think you had it in you. Of course, if you hurt Willow, Xander, Giles, or Dawn, I'll have to pay you back extra. Only fair, y'know?"

"I didn't kill any of them. I mean, I thought Ms. Kaur was gonna stake me, but...Buffy, they haven't tried to hurt me at all. Except Faith, and I asked for that. We've been trying to tell you it'd be that way, Buffy. Just...come home."

"They really have you tamed, don't they? At least, they think so."

Faith's had enough. She grabs the phone out of Harmony's hand, producing a squeal of protest. "Damn it, B, if you thought she was dead why'd you call her number? Why the hell can't you leave us alone?" The display shows that Buffy's calling from another cell phone--probably one she's taken off a vampire.

"Now there's a voice I expected to hear." Buffy's voice is all oozing malice now; the excitement has vanished. "She says you hurt her. And she asked for it. Being Li'l Miss Vampire Abuser, are we? You always said you wanted to boink the undead, but _Harm_? Don't you think that's kinda tacky?" Harmony makes a face; evidently she thinks so.

"I'm training her to fight. She's gonna show up at your crypt one day and knock you on your ass, B, and the rest of us will be right behind her."

"Please. The day that happens...well, there won't be any such day. Are you still keeping Angel around? I bet he's more fun now that he's all demon. Too stupid to brood any more, by the looks of this chick I tried the blood on."

"Huh?" Faith stares at the phone. "Buffy, he's human. You made him human."

A strangled noise emanates from the speakers. " _What?_ No, dammit, he said 'fate worse than death'! He promised me! He even threatened me with it!" Buffy snarls over the phone; a burst of static erupts. And then nothing. The connection has vanished.

Faith hands Harmony the phone; the vampire looks a little green. "So much for mercy," Faith mutters.

"No," Harmony says, shaking her head. "I...I think she meant that part too. In...in her way."

Faith looks at her, not showing whether she understands. "Well, now what do we do?"

"You don't look much like Charlize Theron," Harmony says with a shrug. "But I guess we get back to the vampire abusing." Faith blinks stupidly, and Harm smiles. For once, she's caught Faith off guard. "It's a thing. I'll explain sometime." Her game face appears again; Faith missed seeing when it vanished. "I wanna be ready. Let's fight."  
********  
"Take 'em down," the vampire leader snarls. She isn't looking at Laura or Kirsten, but beyond them at the smaller group of vampires huddled against the alley wall. Kirsten thinks she looks about ten years old, but from the clothes, and the aura of her power, the girl might be about three times that. She has that eighties look about her. Plus she's been leading a ragged chorus of "Kill the Beast" from the Disney movie, apparently without any awareness of the irony involved.

"No," Kirsten says again. "Leave them alone. They haven't done anything to you."

"To us?" The girl snickers. "That doesn't matter. We don't matter. They feed off humans. Well, we burned their nasty little place to the ground. They're next," she finishes, waving her torch menacingly.

"Kirsten," Laura says worriedly, "maybe they're right. Those two..." She points at two of the rearmost vampires they were standing in front of; the pair try to squirm further behind the rest. "They don't even have souls. I think you might be defending the wrong side."

"They haven't been hurting anyone," Kirsten tries to explain. "They drink bagged blood, when they can get it, and pay for it. They don't kill anyone when they feed. And they aren't the ones waving torches and burning down buildings. These...they didn't even know if there were humans inside."

"They drink human blood!" someone shouts from the back of the mob. "They're monsters and they don't even care!"

"We care," whines one of the cornered vampires unhappily. "You're using all the butcher's blood in town." If the mob hears, they don't show it.

"Kirsten..." Laura says insistently.

"They're out of control," Kirsten insists back. "You don't know what they'll do next."

"I know what they're doing now," Laura responds. "And as bad as it looks...I think it's the right thing." She steps forward and takes a torch. "If you won't help, then get out of the way."

"Up the wall," Kirsten murmurs, hoping the trapped vampires will take her meaning. She's seen it done before. Then she moves into Laura's path. "No," she said. "I won't."  
********  
The road stretches on into the distance ahead of her. Highways...such a marvel. Highways and cellular phones. Sadha opens hers and dials. "Good _e_ -vening," she intones theatrically.

"And a good evening to you, Mistress," Ravensdale responds, the coded exchange demonstrating that he's alone. Sadha listens closely for background noise, but there's no real need. Of course, she's told him not to call her "Mistress", but that never seems to take, somehow.

"I've been assigned, Ravensdale. Lure him out. Tell him I'm in Houston, if you think that will make him bite." Using the fellow like this is unpleasant, but it's all for the greater good, and never mind how painful it is to look into Ravensdale's eyes and tamper with his will. Never mind how it hurts to hear the worshipful tone in his voice. It has to be done.

"It may, Mistress. Mr. Wyndham-Price is most interested in you."

"He wants me destroyed, Ravensdale, but he doesn't have to do that in person. It'd be foolish, in fact. You need to give him a reason. You're a smart fellow. Come up with something."

"I'll tell him you have acquired the Helm of Kasparov. He has a personal interest in that one himself." The Helm is one of a number of objects of power that has been lost...sometimes deliberately, because of the danger they pose to the world.

"That should do the job. Thank you, Ravensdale. You're a good man."

"I live to serve you, Mistress." And he does. He does. Sadha shuts the phone off with a wince. Sometimes you just have to...what is the phrase? Bite the bullet.

She puts the pedal on the floor and heads east. Toward the sun.  
;  
How fitting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After this point, I began writing certain sections of the fic in script format. It was in fashion at the time to do so for "virtual seasons", and that was the vibe I was going for. However, script is now very, very out, and I am rewriting those sections. I expect this to take considerable time, much more so than changing tenses. I apologize for any delays that result.


	11. Schism: Compromised Act I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: The script chapters, which I expected to be shorter when converted, have in fact proven disproportionately long. Though it scrambles up the intended fifty chapters, I'm going to break them into sections. This the muse demands.
> 
> Also, I have added a segment, so you are now about to see the first new DeadWar material in six years.

"No man knows how bad he is till he has tried very hard to be good.”

C. S. Lewis, _Mere Christianity_

 

Hampton Greer knows his demons.

Some demons are little more than fragments of thought that encapsulate a particular sin. There are demons of lust, of envy, of prejudice. Some call this type of demon a delusion, but in his youth Hampton was driven away from a dilapidated motel by one of these last, which called itself a Thesulac when he confronted it. Hampton knows there are mere habits of mind, and he knows the difference.

Some have taken on bodily form. Most often these are warriors, though some are seducers. Hampton avoids these. There are servants of the Lord who can face them, but he is not among the mighty of arms.

Then there are the possessors, who lack flesh or have only a scrap of it that invades the body. A few of these have the power to manifest their own bodies as well, like the Ethros. Hampton hates dealing with the Ethros. God has not yet shown him how to properly banish them back to hell, and he must rely on mere containment devices built by those of bent faith. Still, that is better than nothing when demons torment humanity.

"I command you," Hampton says, "in the name of Jesus Christ to come out of her!"

The demon rasps laughter and spits in his face. What he wouldn't give to have his son beside him. But the boy's faith is weak. Too often he sees demons as the bodies they wear, as people in pain and torment. He does not understand how thoroughly demons deserve their eternal suffering.

Sometimes Hampton Greer works in partnership with his wife, but three months ago she was struck down by illness. Prayer and chemotherapy are driving the cancer back, but she lacks the strength yet to face this monster.

And so he faces down this demon alone.

It goes about as well as can be expected. "The Lord Jesus Christ rebuke you! The Lord rebuke you!"

"Your 'Lord' was eaten by worms," it sneers at him. "Hear him on the cross, mortal. 'My God, my God, why have you abandoned me?' Are these the words of one who can defeat me?"

Hampton forces a smile. "Yes, actually. For he suffered the abandonment of his Father and held to his task in spite of it. I command you in his name to depart from this woman!"

"Heh heh heh." Hampton does not understand the laughter. "You hide your family from me because of their weakness. A pity that you too are weak. Most of all you hide your daughter."

Dena turned six last week. Hampton knows some women have great faith, but she is too young for this work. "Leave her out--" Hampton hears the creak of a floorboard and turns.

"Bad man." Dena steps forward and spits on the creature's dress. "I saw you in my dreams."

"You...what?" Strange. This is the first time the demon has shown a hopeful response. Yet now of all moments it seems confused.

"You get out of her," says the child. "You get out of her and depart from the region."

"Heh," it says. "Not in the cards, little girl. But I might depart from this one...for you. The young have such spirit."

"Dena," Hampton warns, "you need to go. This isn't the place for little girls."

"Daddy," she says without looking at him. "The bad man was in my dreams. He ran from me. I yelled at him and I made him bow down."

Hampton is off-kilter now. That's bad enough to get you killed, facing one of these things. "Dena, go, please. Get out of here."

The stubborn girl shakes her head. "I punched him in the face and told him to say 'Jesus is Lord'. He wouldn't, so I beat him and I kicked him, but he wouldn't." She turns back to the demon. "Jesus says get out of her and depart from the region."

Hampton has no right to involve his little girl in this. She could die. And yet...

And yet for the first time the demon looks nervous.

"Too young," it hisses at last. "You will be a terror if you grow to age, but you are yet too young. I will kill you now."

Hampton has a cross--Ethros fear the cross, as not all demons do--but he is too slow. The demon lunges for her, its host's hands ready to grasp her throat and snap her neck, and Hampton is not fast enough to save his daughter.

That's okay. She is.

Dena has a little chain with a little silver cross around her neck. Another, larger cross is in her left hand. The creature that seeks her death falls back in consternation.

"Jesus says get out of her you poopface."

All right. If that's how it's going to go down...

They'll face it together.

*****

Lunge. Parry. Thrust. Lunge. Dodge. Feint.

Every so often Dena throws a punch at the bag. It's just a target. It's there to give her something to hit. But punching is not enough. You have to know when and where and how to strike. That would be true even if her enemies were human.

"...We're not afraid to stand and fight..." The Carman song is old, but she doesn't care. She remembers it from when she was young. Anyway, truth doesn't get old. And it's a good song to train to.

"...We cast out demons left and right..." Lunge. Feint. Thrust. Parry. She was born for this. Even Mr. Giles recognized it when they met. She still isn't sure how they lost that early rapport.

"...We're strong in battle, strong in prayer..." Dena doesn't understand why God has chosen most of the other girls. They aren't faithful. Many aren't even nominal Christians. At first she thought maybe she was meant to spread the Word to them and bring them into the fold, but that sort of required that anyone listen to her. Well, no one said understanding God's plan was easy.

"...We tell Satan 'Get outta here!'..." Punch. Punch. Dodge. Kick. Regan is a case in point. Dena has some vague notion of why someone might believe in ancient pagan religions because they don't know any better. But Regan is _Wiccan_ , a religion that has an ancient history going back all the way to the Sixties. It doesn't even start with a fake revelation, like Scientology or Mormonism. People just join up because it gives them what they want. Or something. Mostly magic, she supposes.

So Dena trains to fight, and Regan sits around and meditates and complains about Dena's bad aggressive energy. There's an invisible demon picking up the pencil in front of Regan, twirling it around, letting her think that she's levitating it herself. Sometimes she wonders if Regan is even really a Slayer at all, or just possessed. She feels like a Slayer to Dena, but Dena isn't the best at sensing these things.

"...Sound off--" Without warning Regan darts between her and the punching bag, shoving her back. Looks like this is the moment. Regan...seizes her earbuds?

"D'you mind? How'm I supposed to concentrate with you shouting at the top of your lungs?" Oh. It's only this again. Regan and her "meditation".

"Who said you were supposed to? I'm doing something useful--training--while you're summoning up demons over there. Don't know what you got Called for, 'cause it's pretty much wasted on you." Regan will not fight. Regan does not kill. She has slain a handful of vampires--Dena does not understand why these and only these bother her--but she lacks sufficient skill to be good at killing the undead, and shows little interest in learning to fight well.

"Why? Because I don't like to fight? Demons like fighting. Gangs like fighting. Me, I've got better things to do with my time." To Dena, this makes no sense at all. Fighting is not good or evil; it's just a means to an end. The good fight the evil and the evil fight the good, and that will end only when there's no more evil.

"Yeah, well, soldiers and police don't like fighting either, but it's their job, and ours too. How 'bout you get off your butt and do it every once in a while?" That isn't entirely fair--Regan will fight and kill vampires, sure--but she's never going to be any good at it this way. How can she not understand duty?

One of these days, she thinks Regan will give her an answer she can understand, but apparently that day is not today. Regan winces and flinches away from the door. That seems to be her one use--she's far more sensitive than Dena. It takes a few more moments before Dena can confirm with her own power that yes, there is a vampire outside. Only then do they hear someone begin to knock. Dena wonders what vampire is foolish enough to try this, but she picks up a stake and heads for the door, a weaponless Regan trailing behind.

Outside the door is what looks like a woman from India, just starting to reach middle age. She's a little plump by Hollywood standards, but more than pretty enough to be jealous of. Her hair has been elaborately braided and coiled around her head, but she has on a very practical pants-and-blouse outfit. Good for fighting. She raises an eyebrow at Dena, studying her. "Looking for two Slayers. I'd say you're one of them. Miss Greer?"

If she's heard enough about Dena to know she's a Slayer, she's heard enough to know how stupid it is to come looking for her. Something doesn't add up. "That's me. And you must be tonight's vampire-with-a-death-wish."

"Actually, I'm your Watcher, Sadha Kaur. Assigned by Rupert Giles himself." Dena considers this. It might be true. Giles has always had a baffling soft spot for vampires who claim they want to reform, as long as she's known him. "Mind if I come in and have a look around?"

Dena responds to this blatant fishing for an invitation by rolling her eyes. How ridiculous can you get? "Talk to the hand."

A lot of churches object to tattoos, and some of her friends object even to this one, but Dena is fairly sure that if God objected to it, it wouldn't work. She's had the back of her right hand covered in a big blue cross. Nothing fancy, nothing even decorative, really--just the equivalent of block print. The vampire recoils from it with a hiss, showing its real face.

"Thought so. Regan?" Sooner or later, Regan will have to acknowledge the truth. At least she has gone so far as to purchase a little silver cross on a chain--even if it is one of those sacriligeous things with a yin-yang in the center. God is apparently not offended enough to make it not work; when Regan holds it up, the vampire backs away a little further.

"Please just leave. I'm not in a fighting mood tonight, not even for undead mockeries of life." Regan says that with a sigh that Dena wants to mock. When has Regan ever been in a fighting mood? Dena has never really understood the idea she seems to have that demons are nothing important, but somehow if a thing walks around without also having a heartbeat, that makes it evil.

"I'm not your Watcher, Regan," the vampire cuts in. "Just hers. I think I prefer the two of you address me as Ms. Kaur, for the moment, but aside from that I can forgive a little rudeness...given the circumstances. All the same, you will accept my authority." That makes Dena snicker. The authority of a vampire? As if.

"I've met Mr. Giles. Didn't like him much, and he didn't like me, but I'll believe he assigned a vampire as anyone's Watcher when hell freezes over." That's only a partial truth, admittedly. She and Giles got along just fine until he understood the nature of her convictions. That took a few weeks and some questions. Whatever his faults, though, he stopped short at endorsing vampires in general as okay. She brandishes her stake. Maybe this one will take the hint.

Unfortunately, at that point Regan decides it's time to show her nonviolence credentials. "Ms. Kaur...you really ought to go. Maybe we can talk about this later when--"

"Talk? Hah! You invite her in, and I'll leave you to her." Dena half-turns to glare at her. The vampire can't attack unless Dena takes a step over the threshold, and that'll require shoving the vampire out of the way. "Nobody gets in here but our real Watchers, so till they show up you can--"

A hand slams her against the doorframe, knocking the breath out of her and the stake from her hand. The vampire strides through the door, shoving Regan aside. Dena tries to keep her jaw from dropping. Has Mr. Giles really been so stupid? But she doesn't think she's said anything else that could count as an invitation, so he must have.

Instead of attacking further, the vampire leans against their slightly torn armchair as if that was the end of the fight. She'll know better in a moment. "Thank you. Now we can discuss the matter like civilized people."

Dena scoops up another stake from the end table. She keeps them all over the house, just in case. The vampire doesn't move. "I take back what I said about Mr. Giles. He's an idiot."

"Hmm. Well, I'd say you were fairly quick on the uptake, yourself, except that no one would say that about Rupert Giles unless she were a complete fool."

Dena's vision fills momentarily with a red haze, and she takes a swing. The vampire leans lazily to one side, surely not enough to matter--and Dena's fist dents the wall. It shrugs and attempts a sweep kick. Dena tries to jump over, but the creature is fast enough that Dena's left foot is almost caught; she stumbles, just a bit.

Regan mutters, "You two are ruining the vibes in this house, you know that? I'll be cleansing the place for a month." Vibes. Regan and her stupid vibes.

"Quit kibitzing and get over here! I think this one's not gonna be easy." The chatter distracts her just enough that a fist like steel crashes into her stomach. Good solid abs prevent the blow from knocking the wind out of her.

"You think not? Buffy Summers had difficulty fighting me." _Before or after?_ Dena wonders. Buffy is an enigma to her. How could a vampire retain God's blessing? Yet, her Slayer powers seem only to have been augmented by her vampiric abilities. Dena strikes a blow at the vampire's jaw, but a hand comes up and catches her fist. Bad move. Smoke billows from the contact between tattoo and demon flesh. "And, despite this clever little trick, you're a cheap imitation...nothing more."

The vampire squeezes Dena's hand in a grip thst would crush most people's bones nd shoves, forcing Dena back a step. Then stops. Then spins half around, blocking Regan's puny punch with her other hand. "Weak, Regan...very weak. Do you train at all?"

Regan backs off a step. It's always her way--retreat, retreat, retreat. "I'm not a violent person. But for things like you..." She seizes the punching bag and-- _snap-crunch_ \--rips it free from its bracket in one swift motion. "...I make an exception." The big bag hits the vampire in the face, slamming her back. She reels across the room, off-balance and disoriented, and trips over Dena, who is coming at her low. There is that: Regan knows teamwork. If only so that Dena can do the hard work.

Except that the vampire rolls across Dena's back and onto her feet. "All right...innovative. I suppose I've seen worse technique. On occasion." Rude!

Dena seizes her by the arms, yanks her down, and knees her hard in the back, aiming to break her spine, but the vampire is flipping over her by that point and merely gains momentum. And here comes Regan with a stake, at last. Dena falls in beside her, glancing around for a weapon.

The nearest stake is in Regan's hand. "Give me that. You'll poke your eye out." Better. Regan glares and dashes over to grab the stake Dena lost by the door.

"One of these days," the vampire muses, "you two will have to learn to work together. You're doing very poorly at it so far." And in an instant, she slams her forehead into Dena's. "I don't suppose either of you has noticed yet that I have a soul? Regan's files say her intuition is particularly acute."

Dena might respond, if she could be sure what would come out of her mouth. She sways a little. Vampires hit hard. Regan has a stake, though, and steadies her a bit with a helping hand. "I've noticed," Regan grumbles. "As far as I'm concerned, you're just that much more unnatural." Small favors.

"Well. That will make this all the more difficult, I suppose." The vampire shakes her head and smirks. "It's a good thing you're not mine. And you, Dena?"

Dena lets her stake speak for her with a thrust, but the vampire leaps backwards out of reach. "I don't compromise with demons. I slay them."

The vampire gives her a smirk. "Ah, yes...so do I." Dena is still moving forward, and the monster grabs her stake hand to slam it into the wall. She's not invulnerable; the impact hurts enough to break her grip on the stake. "So if I cast out demons by the power of demons...by whose power do you cast them out?"

Dena stops dead. You'd think demons would quote that line for cover all the time. They never do, though, not that she's heard. _She doesn't really fight demons; she is a demon. That'd be idiotic, and whatever she is she's pretty clever._

She's hesitated too long. The vampire yanks her off her feet and slams her into Regan, and it takes everything they've got not to hit the ground in a tangle of limbs.

"And if I cast out demons by the power of demons, then Satan's kingdom is divided against itself...and has an end." She glances over as if to ask if she has it right. Still smirking.

Dena moves in front of Regan. Something odd is going on, and she can wait till she understands what before she slays. "You've done your homework."

"True. Does it matter? I can quote scripture to my purpose...but do you have any idea what purpose that is? Perhaps we share a goal." The monster--it has never yet shown its true face--offers her a very good imitation of a genuine smile. Now it's Regan who raises her eyebrows and tries to push past Dena, stake up. "An end. You'd like that, wouldn't you? Well, so would I."

Dena snorts. "You want to die?" What sort of vampire would want to fall back into hell?

Regan must have believed she was considering the vampire's suggestion, because she grabbed Dena's right arm. "Don't tell me _you're_ thinking of trusting her."

Dena shrugged her off. "Not an inch," she sneered. What was the creature's game?

"I'm willing to die for what I care about. Aren't you?" Sadha spread her arms wide as if making an offer. "What's more important to you, anyway? Killing one vampire, this instant? Or killing more of us, because you have help? Because you've been properly trained? You have choices I've lost, Dena. Be certain you make the right ones while you can."

When she put it that way...Priorities. Regan tried to shove her way past again; this time Dena put an elbow in her gut and left her gasping for breath. "I like this a lot less than you, Regan. But she's making sense. We can dust her any time. She makes a wrong move, we kill her. We'll have another Watcher around soon; if we really have to we can all sleep in shifts."

Regan's eyes went wide with outrage. "She's dead, Dena. She's a thing. I can feel her. She grates on my nerves just being in the same room. It can't be that different for you, not to mention your demon-phobia."

"It isn't. But that's the difference between us. It doesn't matter what I like. What I'm supposed to do...that's what matters." Regan has never understood, not really. She thinks that Dena operates based on her feelings, the way Regan does. "Put the stake down. And we'll..." She eyes the vampire's poker face warily. "...talk."

Regan sighs. "Fine. Just don't expect me to stay in the same room with her the whole time."

Dena shakes her head. "I can manage without you." It's not as if Regan's ever been much use for anything.

The vampire smiles, not showing any teeth. "I'm surprised. I didn't expect you to be the one to see reason."

Dena isn't sure what to say to that. The vampire's not the only one who treats her like a big ball of irrationality. She just demands a test of Sadha's claims. "I want to see you cast out demons. Tonight."

The monster answers that with a shrug and sidles toward the nearest armchair to sit. "Done."

Where do you go from there? Does she expect conversation? "I'm Chosen. My powers come from God."

Sadha gives her a smirk that Dena would dearly love to wipe off her face. "Well, then. If you're sure."

*****

This is his place. His sanctum. His citadel.

It is not the old Council chambers, sadly, but it is his own, and therefore it will do. The wide bay windows allow the morning sun to spill into the room, never quite reaching the other walls with their shelves of ancient books.

This is the study of Roger Wyndham-Price. The senior surviving member of the Watcher's Council. By right, its head.

Roger Wyndham-Price does not have his right, however. Not yet.

"The Helm of Kasparov," he says, very deeply calm and quiet. The Helm is a myth. A fabrication of fools desperate to challenge human dominance over Earth.

"So my sources tell me," says his right-hand man. Roger cannot read his tone or expression. No one can. Bran stands there in his impeccably-pressed suit: black-haired, clean-shaven, lightly-built but far from weak.

"In Houston, Ravensdale?" Roger invests that with all the skepticism he can pack in. 

Bran Ravensdale lifts his eyebrow a tiny fraction. "The Gem of Amara, the Glove of Mynhegon, the Word of Valios, and a surviving DuLac Cross--among several other things--were all found in a small town in California. Houston may not be a hellmouth, but these agglomerations of humanity can support far more demons, and often contain as many artificial supernatural phenomena. Perhaps more."

Hmm. Frustrating, baffling, how so many artifacts have made their way across the pond, as it were. But again: the Helm is not real. "Then you believe the renegade is on the verge of finding the Helm." Ravensdale is smarter than this.

"Not in the slightest, sir." Ravensdale smirks, but the expression is purely a mask, meant to demonstrate irony. Roger scowls at him. This is not the time for games. "On the contrary, it's clearly an attempt to panic you, to produce rash moves on our part. She leaked this information precisely to lure you to her. The Helm said to amplify a vampire's power of enthrallment? Even if it exists--and that is not at all certain--the information is an obvious bluff."

Hmm. An interesting notion. "Then we should call it? Do nothing?"

The other man nods, seemingly satisfied. Perhaps he is. "That sounds like an appropriate move to me."

Roger sighs and shakes his head. One never simply "did nothing" when the darkness stirred. "An obvious bluff, Ravensdale, and obviously meant to be called. Consider why it took over a century just to discover the renegade's existence. She is a master of elaborate plots, wheels within wheels. There is no way for us to determine whether she means for us to go or stay; this game of bluff and counterbluff can proceed without end. The only thing to do is to go to Houston and see for ourselves--but cautiously. Something there needs doing, or preventing; the question is merely what that is."

Ravensdale makes a small noise of alarm. "By "ourselves", you mean..? But sir--"

Roger lets himself slump a little in exasperation. "Yes, yes...I will be going. That...cyborg fiasco damaged my credibility among the surviving Watchers. Quite aside from this scheme itself, it's important that I be seen and, if necessary, my identity be tested. The longer I sit here ensconced in my private residence, the less trusted I will become. All the more so given the sheer number of Slayers still lacking guidance. That sentimental fool Rupert Giles...absurd that he should be the one to end up taking charge." How had that miserable fellow weaseled his way into the headship? And now his Slayer, touted for her longevity, was the new apocalypse-in-waiting.

"Then you'll be taking protection, I assume, sir?" Ravensdale has begun a show of hand-wringing. It is probably a genuine expression of concern, after a fashion, but the man is well-aware that Roger had been a very successful field agent in his youth. Well, that's past, but he is far from helpless.

Roger nodsand rises, glancing for the briefest moment out the window. "All for the best, I'd say." His personal bodyguard is out there, practicing her Krav Maga. They're nothing like traditional Slayer forms, but they ensure her lethality. "We have a veritable army on our hands, Ravensdale. After millennia of 'one girl in all the world,' suddenly there are thousands. Any Watcher worthy of the name would have led us to victory over the forces of darkness and put an end to this war at last. Instead...chaos. It's a disgrace. A blot on the Council's history, as bad as the First's attack or worse."

"A disgrace," Ravensdale echoes. He turns to go. "I'll have your belongings prepared for travel, sir."

"Yes, yes," Roger says absently as the man departs. How it had come to this no longer matters. A few more weeks and he will be head of the Council, as he should have been even before Travers.

Outside, his bodyguard practices her forms. There is nothing that is not a weapon in her hands. As it should be. As it will be...time without end.


	12. Schism: Compromised Act II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has not yet been converted from script format, but it will be. Please bear with me.

ACT II

CITY STREET MONTAGE--NIGHT

Cars zoom past the camera, lights shining, bodies reflecting the lights of the big city. In the last shot, a Jeep comes careening around a corner at high speed just as the stoplight changes to red.

INT JEEP--NIGHT

DENA is at the wheel, looking calm and in control; SADHA, next to her, unclenches her hand from the door.

DENA (scowling): Leave a mark on my car and you'll be paying for the repairs.

SADHA (still light, but slightly strained): Of course. I have nothing to worry about unless we collide with a semi carrying a load of logs, or the car explodes. Still, your safety might be better served if Regan were to drive?

REGAN, in the back seat, nods enthusiastically.

DENA: It's my car. I know what I'm doing. Lay off already.

The Jeep veers sharply to the left. DENA is grinning widely as they leave the main road for a side street.

REGAN: Is there enough money in your expense account to buy me a car, Ms. Kaur? I'd be happy to drive from now on.

SADHA: I'm honestly not inclined to buy things for people who call me an "unnatural creature."

The Jeep jolts violently as it hits a bump in the road.

SADHA (continued): But I'll consider it.

REGAN (uncomfortable): It's the truth, though. It's what you are. You're not dead. You're not alive. It's like you...block energy, twist it.

SADHA: Ah. I'm a disruption in the flow of qi.

REGAN: Uh-huh.

The Jeep whips around a corner and is nearly hit by another car, which swerves to avoid the collision.

DENA (turning to shout out the window): Dumb ass! Learn to drive! (defensive, as the others stare at her) He was across the center line. I'd have had plenty of room otherwise.

SADHA (with a shrug): I see. (turning back to REGAN) I'm sure your parents taught you not to disrespect people for things they can't help.

REGAN: It's different.

DENA (muttering): You're not a person.

REGAN (ignoring DENA): This isn't about the color of your skin or how old you are. You're just...(she trails off)

SADHA: Dead? I'm sorry, but there really isn't much I can do about that.

DENA (muttering): I can.

The Jeep makes a violent turn, forcing everyone to lean left.

REGAN: Being around you is like listening to fingernails on a chalkboard. It's just...bad. I'm really sensitive to these things.

SADHA (as the vehicle stops suddenly): Again...my apologies. Perhaps you should stop being so sensitive?

Everyone begins to get out of the car.

EXT. CEMETERY--NIGHT

The car has stopped in the parking lot of a dilapidated cemetery. Many of the headstones have worn blank, and some are fallen. The grass has recently been mown, but not very well; tufts of it stick up around the markers.

REGAN: I can't do that.

SADHA: Well then. You know how I feel. (she turns toward DENA) This doesn't look like a hot spot for fledgeling vampires.

DENA: It's not. Young ones are stupid. They don't know any better than to have turf wars all the time.. There's a gang here with an older leader. I haven't been able to take it out. It gets respect, even from other kinds of demon. You kill it, I'll maybe believe you a little.

SADHA: And if we fight, but I lose?

DENA: I'll believe you more, and I'll call Mr. Giles to apologize.

DENA starts off into the cemetery towards a large mausoleum. The others follow her reluctantly.

SADHA (drily): That's a rather perverse system of incentives. What about the gang? Surely you don't expect me to fight them all?

REGAN: Most of them will be out hunting at this hour. He keeps just a few around as sentries. We've killed some of them before. They're not the problem.

DENA: I've killed some of them before.

REGAN rolls her eyes with a put-upon sigh.

DENA (continued): We'll keep the minions off you. You take the boss.

SADHA: I don't suppose you know his name?

DENA (sarcastically): Why? You think it might be a friend of yours?

SADHA: Unlikely. Most of my...friends...killed themselves. Stakes. Sunlight. That sort of thing.

DENA: Not you?

SADHA (after a beat): I understood there were more important matters than my immediate demise. (They arrive at the mausoleum.) No guards?

REGAN (quizzically): We should have run into them by now.

DENA tests the door, which is locked. She takes a step back and kicks it open.

REGAN (continued, aside to SADHA): She's not much with the stealthiness. Likes the direct approach better.

SADHA (with a shrug): Evidently it's worked for her so far, and she doesn't seem interested in my guidance.

CUT TO

INT CRYPT

The mausoleum is coated in a thick layer of dust, with several sets of tracks. A few heavy coffins are scattered about on platforms; the one furthest from the door is open. REGAN, DENA, and SADHA leave more tracks as they enter.

REGAN: Now what?

DENA (glancing at SADHA): Never gotten this far before, and we didn't even have to fight for it. Something's wrong here.

DENA walks off toward the open coffin to investigate, while REGAN studies the tracks. SADHA runs her fingers through the dust on the nearest coffin, frowns, and raises them to her nose. She seems about to speak, when DENA shouts wordlessly.

SADHA: Find something?

DENA (smug): Secret passage. Bottom of this coffin's missing.

DENA climbs onto the platform and jumps into the coffin, falling directly through.

INT LOWER CRYPT

As DENA drops through a hole in the ceiling, we see bits of broken furniture scattered around the room amidst a quartet of brick pillars. Nothing is particularly recognizable except a tattered mattress lying against the wall with the padded layer ripped open. As the camera pans, we hear REGAN and SADHA dropping through as well.

REGAN (looking around, still confused): Not seeing a climax here. (Her nose wrinkles as if she smells something unpleasant.)

DENA: Maybe it moved out.

SADHA (unhappily, her face tight): He's here.

REGAN: I feel him, but how do you know?

SADHA: I feel him too. But I suspected as soon as we entered the crypt. Older vampires usually prefer tidier surroundings than this, unless they worship something that demands otherwise, in which case we'd be knee-deep in slime or intestines or something of the sort.

SADHA walks slowly, almost casually, toward the farthest pillar.

DENA: 'Scuse me? What are you yammering about?

A low moan emanates from the other side of the pillar.

SADHA: You said others wouldn't fight him...that he was respected. For his power, I presume. Among vampires, respect tends to cover fear, and to be accompanied by jealousy. I'm not surprised you don't understand, Dena. You seem to understand very little.

SADHA crouches down next to the pillar, and as she does so the camera rotates so that we can see the profile of someone else behind it.

SADHA (continued) I, on the other hand, know these things from...experience. (more softly, not looking at the Slayers) I'm sorry. Was it all of them, or just you?

The camera continues panning until we can see the deeply-lined face of an ELDERLY VAMPIRE. He is huddled in on himself, rocking against the pillar. The VAMPIRE doesn't respond audibly, or even look at her.

REGAN, and after a moment, DENA, approach more cautiously. DENA is gripping her stake with white knuckles, her face set; REGAN holds hers loosely, looking unhappy.

SADHA (continued): He's very old indeed. Twice my age, perhaps. Possibly more. I see why you weren't able to take him.

She stretches out a hand as if to stroke his arm, then stops, looking up at them watching her.

REGAN: He has a soul...doesn't he?

SADHA (nodding): He has a rival, most likely somewhere in town, one who wasn't powerful enough to attack him directly. So rather than fight his minions, they...destroyed them from within.

SADHA moves her hand slowly in front of the VAMPIRE's face. He doesn't seem to notice.

DENA holds out her stake to SADHA, her face fixed in a disgusted expression.

DENA: So are we going to sit here making nice, or are we going to kill it?

SADHA (with a deep, unhappy sigh): Yes, we're going to...kill him.

She takes the stake and plunges it into the VAMPIRE's heart, reducing him to dust. SADHA stands up, handing the stake back to DENA, who looks at it as if it were covered in filth for being used by a vampire.

SADHA (continued flatly, as if delivering a lesson): A vampire is either useful, or useless. I doubt you need to hear that there's no need or reason to spare a useless one. A useful vampire, on the other hand, can be worth preserving...though not out of any concern for its rights, as it has none. Should it become dangerous...simply do away with it. (she gestures at DENA's stake) I trust my point is clear?

DENA (grinning wrily): Totally.

CUT TO BLACK SCREEN

END OF ACT II


	13. Schism: Compromised Act III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has not yet been converted from script format, but it will be! Please bear with me.

ACT III

CITY STREET MONTAGE--NIGHT

Carman's "God's Got an Army" plays in the background. The Jeep appears in the last image, moving more slowly than before. 

...a people with ears to hear/and hearts to respond/to the spiritual needs of the nations...

INT JEEP--NIGHT

SADHA and DENA are in the same positions as before. REGAN is huddling uncomfortably in the back seat.

SADHA (in a calm but brittle tone): Are you satisfied, Dena? I've killed a demon, as you requested, and no doubt removed your worst problem. Others will, of course, move in to fill the gap.

We're a showcase of what He'll do/When we are strong/In Jesus, to a whole generation...

DENA (scornfully): Bothered you, though, didn't it? Looked like you felt sorry for him.

SADHA: According to your belief system, I just sent him to hell, correct? And that hell is not his home, but is just as painful to him as it would be to you? Why should I not feel sorry for him?

The world won't be the same tomorrow/because we're here today./The kingdom of hell is gonna feel sorrow/'cause our war-cry is--

SADHA pokes angrily at the Jeep's CD player, shutting off the music.

DENA: Hey!

SADHA: I'm getting tired of listening to your noise. Is that all the music you have?

REGAN (mumbling): She never listens to anything "secular". Or peaceful.

DENA: I'm not a peaceful person. Who's that?

DENA wrenches the Jeep into a turn, stopping in the driveway of the rental house. A van that was not present before is sitting in the driveway beside Sadha's compact car.

REGAN (with a little groan): Do vampires drive vans? I need to ground and center sometime tonight.

DENA rolls her eyes as everyone begins to climb out of the Jeep.

SADHA: I've driven a van before.

EXT RENTAL HOUSE--NIGHT

SADHA strides toward the van. As she approaches it, the front door opens, activating a light. Backlighting makes it impossible for us to see who is getting out.

MAN: I didn't think any Slayers were this old.

SADHA: If you had any idea of my actual age, I'd be insulted. As matters stand.... My name is Sadha Kaur.

MAN: Dena's new Watcher. Good luck with that. (He steps away from the van so that we can see his face.) I'm Oz. (He offers her a hand.)

CUT TO

INT RENTAL HOUSE--MAIN ROOM--NIGHT

REGAN is setting up her arc of candles again, while DENA watches OZ and SADHA impassively as they take seats facing each other. SADHA is in the armchair; OZ settles onto the couch arm. He's wearing a faded concert t-shirt and jeans.

SADHA: I don't recall seeing you in L.A. Did you have some other assignment?

OZ: Giles called in a favor. It's getting ugly out there.

SADHA: You're not official, then?

OZ: As official as it gets. Just been doing my own thing a while.

REGAN sits down on the floor, crossing her legs, and turns on a CD player with a recording of the ocean. DENA scowls at her, then goes back to studying the Watchers.

SADHA: She seems to be something of a pacifist. Rupert evidently gave us the hard cases to mentor.

OZ (with a shrug): Somebody's got to.

REGAN appears to be muttering a chant under her breath, too low to be audible. Her eyes are closed. DENA sees this and approaches, deliberately kicking over the unlit candles and walking on. REGAN's eyes snap open.

REGAN (shouting, leaping to her feet): Do you mind? I need to meditate!

SADHA: Girls...

DENA (heatedly): Then how come I don't? This is just one more of your black magic things, and I don't want it around me!

SADHA: Oz, perhaps...? (She stands.)

OZ: I'm on it. (also rising) Regan, you've got a room, right? We should talk.

DENA (with a smirk): Thanks, Oz.

SADHA: Dena, please come over here. We also need to have a discussion. Watcher to Slayer.

Exit REGAN and OZ through a side door. DENA stomps over to the couch, sitting down beside the arm where OZ was.

SADHA (continued): Black magic?

DENA: She claims she has to banish something she calls "little nasties" after she fights. Not that she's even done anything since we stopped pounding on you.

SADHA: Do you know that she doesn't? There are a number of basic balancing meditations traditionally taught to Slayers, to prevent possession, among other things. Not all demons have a physical form, as I'd expect you to know.

DENA (scoffs): I've been into spiritual warfare since I was a little girl. I helped Dad cast out demons a long time before I knew I was a Slayer.

SADHA (raising an eyebrow, intrigued): Really, now?

DENA: A few times. Well...once or twice.

SADHA: There are a number of basic exorcism rites the Watchers have gathered from many cultures, but I must admit I never mastered them. I supposedly have a certain amount of mystical potential, but magical theory has tended to elude me.

DENA (rolling her eyes): It's not magic. Magic comes from demons. If they leave, it's because they're faking. Really casting out demons is a spiritual gift, like speaking in tongues or prophetic dreams.

SADHA (with an amused smile): I see. (She glances at a pencil lying on the coffee table in front of the couch.) "If you have faith the size of a grain of mustard seed, you can say to this mountain--"

DENA (interrupting): That's not my thing. I can't manage that, or healing. I can discern spirits, a little, but not very well.

SADHA: Discern...? Oh. Odd that Regan is better at it, wouldn't you say?

DENA: That's different. She's...it's not the same thing.

SADHA: Of course not. That would make you and her the same. I see the difficulty. Naturally, you find that hard to deal with. Something of an arrogant little pup, aren't you?

DENA shoots her a shocked, offended look.

CUT TO

INT REGAN'S BEDROOM--NIGHT

REGAN is sitting on her carefully-made bed, scowling, while OZ leans against the opposite wall. A large picture of an older man and woman with a younger REGAN is hanging from the wall between them.

OZ: It's not something outside you.

REGAN: They're real. I can feel them. They want inside.

OZ: Maybe. I can't prove they're not real. But if they want inside you, it's 'cause of something you have.

REGAN (angrily): I don't like violence.

OZ: I don't blame you. But you're a Slayer. That's always gonna be part of you. Trust me, I know.

REGAN: I don't fight, Oz. I don't kill. It's just...not me.

REGAN puts her head down, looking at the floor. OZ walks over and sits down beside her.

OZ (softer, attempting a more comforting tone): People depend on you, you know. For protection. They want to live in a safe, peaceful world, same as you. But the world's not like that.

REGAN (growing more agitated): It should be.

OZ: Yeah, it should. So how are you going to make it that way?

REGAN (upset): Violence just makes things worse.

OZ: I'm sorry about your parents.

REGAN looks up at him, startled.

OZ (continued): It's in your files. About the Bringers. You were with your grandparents.

REGAN (looking down again, still angry): So why don't you understand? I don't kill, Oz. I won't!

OZ: So even if you could have done something...you would've let it happen?

REGAN: It wouldn't be my fault! (She clenches her fists.)

OZ: I think--

REGAN looks up wildly at OZ and shoves him off the end of the bed; he goes flying across the room. She stands, putting up her fists. We can see her eyes now; the irises have gone white.

OZ: Dena! Sadha! Some help he--

REGAN drives a fist into his gut.

REGAN (demonic voice): Just go away, damn it! Leave us alone!

REGAN seizes him by the shirt and tosses him into the far wall, next to the family portrait.

REGAN (continued): You don't get to make demands on her! Isn't her life bad enough already? Just go!

OZ attempts to get to his feet, dazed, but REGAN dashes across the room to lift him by the shoulders.

REGAN (continued): She doesn't want this!

SADHA and DENA appear in the doorway. DENA folds her arms, looking smug.

DENA: What'd I tell ya?

REGAN drops OZ and spins to face DENA.

OZ (weakly): Sadha...know any mojo?

REGAN (her face contorted in rage): YOU!

REGAN charges at DENA, who manages to throw her off by spinning with the impact.

REGAN (continued, getting up from the floor): She doesn't want to live here! Not with you! She wants you dead!

SADHA: I'm afraid I've never performed a successful exorcism, Oz, unless one counts killing the subject.

OZ (leaning weakly against the bed): Damn.

SADHA: Now Dena...apparently she's your girl.

REGAN feints a punch at DENA; when DENA dodges, REGAN sweep-kicks her feet out from under her.

SADHA (continued lightly) : I'm told she has all the experience. Dena? Your move.

REGAN attempts to hold DENA down; DENA manages to throw her off, tossing her against the legs of the bed.

OZ: You're joking, right?

DENA (from the floor): What? In the middle of a fight?

SADHA: You wanted to see me cast out demons, remember? Now it's your turn. Prove to me which side you're on.

DENA (looking a little pale): Um...demon...I command you in the name of Jesus. (uncertainly) Come out of her and, uh...depart from the region. Right.

REGAN grabs DENA by the throat and begins to lift her off the floor.

REGAN: Jesus, Jesus, Jesus...Geez! Do you have any idea how sick we are of hearing that name from you?

REGAN lets go with one hand in order to punch DENA in the face.

REGAN (continued): Who the hell are you to use that name, anyway?

REGAN drops DENA to the floor and kicks her viciously in the ribs.

OZ: Um...Sadha?

SADHA (with a shrug): I can probably still bite your Slayer, if that's what you want. Would Rupert approve of that?

REGAN: Damn hypocrite. Just die already. Who do you think you are, ordering us around?

REGAN pulls back for another kick, and DENA grabs her other foot, yanking it out from under her and dragging REGAN over till they're face to face. DENA crouches above her.

DENA (hotly): Who am I? I'm the Slayer. Get out! Get out and get lost! (She draws back her fist for a punch in the face.)

REGAN's eyes close, and she convulses, throwing DENA off. DENA collides with the wall beneath the family portrait, shaking it.

CLOSE-UP of REGAN's face as she opens her eyes. They're back to normal. REGAN coughs.

DENA (sitting up): Ow?

SADHA (with a tight grin): Well. Interesting technique. Bravo. (She claps slowly)

DENA: Ow.

END OF ACT III

CODA

INT MAIN ROOM--NIGHT

REGAN is lying on the couch with a cold cloth on her forehead. OZ is sitting on the coffee table in front of her, and SADHA has taken her armchair again.

OZ: We need more chairs.

SADHA: I'll look into it.

OZ (to REGAN): You okay?

REGAN: Don't say I didn't warn you.

OZ (shaking his head dismissively): You have to focus, that's all. You're the Slayer. The Slayer is you. Once you learn to accept what you are, this shouldn't be a problem.

REGAN: Okay...if you say so. (beat) That hungry and horny thing...is that for real?

OZ shrugs and looks at SADHA.

SADHA: I'd have expected you to know that for yourself by now.

REGAN: I told you...I don't fight much.

DENA enters; she has a black eye and is biting into a huge homemade cheeseburger with everything on it. Everyone turns to stare at her.

DENA (mouth full): Wha'?

REGAN begins to giggle. A moment later, OZ and SADHA look at each other and share a chuckle. DENA swallows.

DENA (defensively): Hey! This? Not a sin.

REGAN laughs harder.

DENA: You want horny, go talk to my brother, the family black sheep. Not me.

SADHA shrugs as REGAN continues laughing in the background.

OZ: Oh, yeah. (The others look expectantly at him.) Giles wanted me to tell you. He got a report after you left. A coven here says they think there's another Slayer in town. There are rumors...well, she might be working for Wyndham-Price's faction.

DENA sneers.

SADHA: They should be able to track her for us, then, and we can pick her up.

OZ (shaking his head): They can't. She doesn't show up on detection spells. They had to compare reports to figure out it wasn't one we knew.

SADHA (puzzled): Cloaked somehow? I've never heard of that.

REGAN: Then we'll have to track her by...following the violence?

OZ: Basically.

CUT TO

EXT PARKING LOT--NIGHT

Ominous music.

SOLITA is standing outside amidst a long row of cars, next to one with an open door. She's a young girl, no more than eleven or twelve, small and thin. The camera pans down and around slowly and we see, first, a dropped backpack on the ground right next to the open door.

A dead DEMON is lying on the ground in front of her, just out of the row of cars. It has small curved horns and scaly orange hide, wearing only some kind of animal-skin pants. A ragged hole has been torn through its chest.

SOLITA's trembling hands are coated in its gore.

BLACK SCREEN


	14. Constitution of Silence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tense-adjusted but largely unchanged from the original.

_We cannot revive old factions  
We cannot restore old policies  
Or follow an antique drum.  
These men, and those who opposed them  
And those whom they opposed  
Accept the constitution of silence  
And are folded in a single party._  
\--"Little Gidding," T. S. Eliot

"Mom," Connor says, grinning infectiously. "Yeah, I'm doing fine. Dawn and I are going to be pretty busy tonight, but next week maybe I can stop by and visit." He gives Dawn a quick wink. "What? No, Mom...nothing like that. We have work to do, that's all. It's..." Connor trails off for a moment, but at last finishes with "Maybe it's best if I don't say, Mom. Just...work."

Dawn looks away. It's his choice how to deal with his other parents...how much to let them in on. They know he fights demons, in a sidewise manner, and they've agreed together not to talk about the details, just in case. Unfortunately, at the moment that doesn't leave them much else to talk about together. Except maybe Dawn, which he seems embarrassed doing if she's around at the time.

Connor bursts into a fit of nervous laughter. "Mom, no! I mean, we had our first real date a month ago! We have a lot in common, but...well, there's been too much else going on to really get into anything heavy."

The couch shifts beside her. "Alexander will not come," Illyria says. "You told me he enjoyed these movies." A faint undertone of disappointment tinges her voice, just slightly. Illyria never admits to wants, let alone needs, if she can avoid it.

Dawn moves away an inch or two. "He does," she insists. "They've got a lot of violence--most guys like violence--but they don't deal with anything much like we've fought. I mean, robots, but nothing that was actually built to kill." No matter how friendly Illyria tries to be--and more and more, she does seem to be trying hard--Dawn finds it difficult to see anything but "hellgod". "So no bad memories."

"Violence." Illyria smiles, though not as widely as Dawn has come to expect. "What exactly is being terminated?"

"The robots are trying to terminate humanity," Connor says, closing his cell phone. "It's funny. I know some great lines, but I don't think I ever really heard them before." Dawn grimaces--Connor seems to deal with his dual history more by being flip about it, where she prefers to avoid the subject unless it's important.

"I understand." Illyria nods. "There is...something about liquid metal, I believe, but I cannot recall any other fragments of the memory." The demoness tilts her head. "Wait...'I know now why you cry....'" After a moment she produces an exasperated hiss. "There is more, but I cannot locate it."

"'...but it is something I can never do,'" Connor finishes. "From the second movie. I don't want to spoil it for you. You know," he says thoughtfully but with a faint smirk, "I always wondered why I memorized that one."

Illyria lifts an eyebrow, intrigued, but all she says is, "Of course. Events must occur, and be experienced, in sequence."

"I'm sorry I let slip that you were going to be watching," Dawn says with a reluctance she doesn't really feel. Illyria still needs taking down several more pegs, and being rejected ought to help, but there seems to be something wrong with Xander's attitude all the same.

"It's possible he would not have remained to watch when he saw me," Illyria states flatly.

Connor picks up the remote. "I thought Willow said he had a grip on himself after the soup kitchen thing."

"There is no comparison. I am not some enfeebled Lister demon, nor am I a refugee," Illyria said. Her voice carries an odd sort of strain. Connor gives her a questioning look, to which she responds, still uncomfortably, "This reality is my home." He frowns as if he wasn't sure that was what he was asking.

"Can you cry?" it occurred to Dawn to ask. There was still a lot she doesn't understand about how the Old One was put together, most of which she doesn't really want to know.

Illyria makes a faint sound in her throat as the movie began. "For what conceivable reason would I do that?"  
********  
Tap, tap, tap.

The Hyperion is never going to be completely renovated. Xander keeps plugging away, though, one piece at a time. Even if he didn't have to keep returning to fix the aftermath of training accidents or attacks, it's just too big a job. What he really ought to do is call in a big company to do it all at once. Somehow, though, it just doesn't seem important. In the end, it isn't going to matter.

That doesn't make a lot of sense. The hotel's probably going to be in use for decades at least. But it's how he feels. Sooner or later Giles will probably suggest it, but he's been too busy.

His glass eye aches. Maybe his problem with women has been the eyepatch. He's never going to be Johnny Depp, after all. He stops himself from reaching up to fiddle with it. That's badness, or so he thinks he'd read.

Traci continues reading aloud. "I saw pale kings and princes too, pale warriors, death-pale were they all." Homework matters now. Some individual Slayers will probably still die young, but there was no reason some of them couldn't live full lives. Like police, or the military--you might get killed on your first mission, or you might make it to retirement without any serious injury at all. "They cried..." He doesn't really care much about literature classes, but it's up to them what they want to study, after all.

Xander gives the door frame a satisfied smile. There was a bit of an argument, and Traci's still new at this. Twenty Slayers in one building, even one this size, are hell on interiors.

"I saw their starved lips in the gloam with horrid warning gaped wide..."

Xander frowns and cuts in. "That's not a vampire poem, is it?" He has the weird sensation that he's missed something, something more important than any poem should be unless maybe it's from one of Giles' books.

"Don't think so," Traci says off-handedly. "John Keats?"

"Doesn't ring a bell." It's probably nothing important.  
********  
Faith throws a punch. She's holding back, but she's still surprised when Harmony catches the blow. The vampire staggers backwards, not strong enough to fend her off completely, but better that than getting hit in the jaw. And she has her game face on, too. That's progress. "You never did tell me what you meant about Charlize Theron."

Harmony dodges around Faith's next attack and tries to kick her in the left thigh. Well...at least it's unexpected. "What's to tell? She's a serial killer. For a human, that's kind of hot, even if she is a woman."

"Ya know that's just a movie, right?" Faith catches Harmony's leg and yanks, meaning to topple her onto her back, but the vampire leaps upward, turning the motion into an aerial flip. "Huh. Not bad." It's not something she really wants to encourage yet, but you don't argue with effective. She'll mention it after the session, maybe.

"Well, duh!"

Faith puts her arms up against what looked like a head-butt and feels fangs dig into her right wrist instead. With a shout, she shakes the vampire off, tossing her backward onto her ass.

"I mean," Harmony continues as if nothing happened, "the real Aileen Wuornos was sort of ugly, and anyway she's dead."

"Harm!" The vampire looks up at her, baffled but licking her lips. "You bit me!"

"What? You told me I should be ready to." Harmony begins to look around. "I tried to fake you out, that's all."

Faith clutches her arm. It's not much of a bite, and Harm didn't got much more than a trickle out of it, but... "I guess I didn't expect..didn't mean for you to actually do it." Jo and Katherine, who've been working out on the other side of the training area, are staring at them; Jo has a stake out, glaring menacingly. "You did all right. It's okay," she says in a louder voice, so the other Slayers will hear. "Fair's fair." She's staked Harmony a few times with wood-grain plastic stakes. A bite that doesn't kill...well, what does she expect, anyway? They're sparring.

"Ahem." Faith turns to see Willow standing in the doorway with a cardboard box, Kennedy hovering behind her possessively. "Faith...Harm...we need to talk." She holds up the box, showing the tags on it.

"What d'ya got there?" Faith offers Harmony a hand up.

Willow shifts her shoulders worriedly. "Paperweights." She opens the box, shifting some styrofoam peanuts, revealing a stack of crystal balls.

Harmony swallows loudly. "Orbs."

Faith follows Harmony's reactions as they leave the training area, heading for an unused room a few doors down the hall. The vampire watches the open box with an expression that keeps shifting between relief and fear. Kennedy, in front of them but behind Willow, glances back repeatedly as if worried Harm might bolt or attack.

Willow takes a deep breath, sits down on a dusty bed, and opens the box the rest of the way. "A couple of weeks ago I would've just done it."

"You should," Kennedy says. "Get it over with."

"That's pretty much what I thought Giles would say." Willow rolls one of the Orbs around in her hand. "But he didn't. He left it up to us...well, me, and whoever I wanted to ask."

"Why?" Harmony plucks another Orb out of the box and stares into it. "I...just do it. It's not like...I don't get a say, right?"

"Harm..." Willow sighs and sets her Orb aside. "If you were Angelus...I guess I would. Any other vampire...I don't know any more. You lost your soul a couple of weeks ago, but you haven't hurt anyone on purpose or even tried to escape. Meanwhile there are vampires _with_ souls running around out there killing up a storm. Mostly not-dangerous demons, other vampires with souls...some of them are going after human criminals, and not to put them in jail." She puts a hand on the vampire's shoulder. "And it gets worse. Harm, this ought to be a gift at least as much as a curse, a shot at redemption. I don't know if that means anything to you right now or not. But the point is, there are people out there _weaponizing_ souls. It makes me sick just to think about it."

Faith shifts on top of the decrepit coffee table she's taken as a seat. "Isn't that what the gypsies did to Angel?"

"In a way," Willow concedes. "But Faith, they didn't know what he'd do with it. The way I heard it, they expected him to suffer forever, and I guess they sort of had cause, too. It was a punishment for something he'd done, that he'd killed someone they cared about. I'm not saying that was enough, or that it was wrong either, but this is being done by vampires to vampires, just to shift the balance of power, to drive their enemies crazy or...or get them to kill themselves. Maybe by other people too, or demons...I don't know yet."

"We're not going to make it, are we?" Harmony places her Orb gently on the bed. "Vampires, I mean. Not even with souls. It's in our nature, like Angel always said. We can't stop." At that Kennedy nervously moves closer as if trying to get between her and Willow, forcing Willow to remove her hand. "We're going to keep killing, even if it's just each other."

Willow grimaces and pulls Kennedy down next to her, closer but out of Harmony's way. "You didn't hear a word I said about you, did you? I don't...I don't even know what to believe any more. I never really thought about it, but everything Angel ever told us, everything the Watchers told us...it's biased. I don't mean it's wrong, I mean we don't _know_. You were off human blood for what, three months before you even started working for Angel? And you wanted to feed off Cordy, she told me all about it...but you didn't. Did you know Angelus killed his entire home town? Everyone he ever knew? Did you ever even try to do that?"

"Willow, I betrayed Cordelia. I turned her over to a bunch of weird vampire cultists. Angel was right." Faith tries to figure out the look in the vampire's eyes, the hunch of her shoulders...it might be nothing but fear. Maybe. Maybe she's just frozen, unable to figure out what to do besides submit and hope to get out alive.

"He could be. I don't know what to think any more." Willow replaces the hand on Harmony's shoulder. "Anyway, there's another thing. There's no way to tell now when we can get more Orbs...if they'll be stolen again...who else we might want to use them for. This is your fourth try, Harm. I think that's Giles' main reason. He's afraid we could be wasting them on you. Demand's way up, and supply's way down." She looks at Kennedy challengingly.

Faith suddenly understands that look. Kennedy doesn't think Harm was salvageable, and she's told Willow so. This is the "resolve face" she keeps hearing about, that she's never quite gotten a look at.

Harmony huddles in on herself. "Just get it over with," she mumbles. "Stake me or soul me or whatever. It's not like you have to give me a choice. It's not like I could make a right choice if you let me. I'm evil and I'm stupid and I...I can't."

"No." Faith doesn't even realize she's going to speak until she begins. "Damn it, Harm! I haven't been training you so you can run away and hide every time you have to make a hard decision." Kennedy tries to get a word in, and Faith clamps a hand over her mouth. "Shut it! Harm, you're a grown woman, as much as you're ever...never mind that. I'm sick of this shit from you, you hear me? You take every vampire I've ever met, and you are the worst at being evil, you got that? _I'm_ more evil than you are. So make the damn choice. You're at least as likely to get it right as me."

Kennedy is scrabbling at Faith's fingers. Willow's eyes are about to fall out of her head. Harmony pulls back against the wall as if expecting Faith to hit her. "I..." The vampire's mouth opens and closes for a few moments. Finally she manages, weakly, "Can I think about it a little while?"

"Long as ya don't try to kill anyone," Faith says, "you can think about it as long as you want." She looks at Willow, who nods briefly. Faith removes her hand from Kennedy's mouth, but with an I-don't-want-to-hear-it glare. "But you've got to make the decision for yourself. Maybe you can be good, maybe you can't, but you're never gonna do it by lettin' us decide things for you."

"This is insane," Kennedy mutters. She pulls away from Willow and stalks out of the room. Willow begins to go after her...then pauses and sits back on the bed.

"Harm," Willow says after a few seconds to think, "Giles may not give you as long as Faith would. There are people putting pressure on him. You need to make up your mind soon, okay?" Harmony nods weakly. "Go on. Get something to eat. Watch a movie, take a nap, whatever you need to do to think it over."

They wait in silence while the vampire pulls herself together and shuffles nervously out of the room. "Do you really think this is the right thing?" Willow wonders self-consciously. "I'm not sure we really know anything any more. Vampires...souls...any of it."

Faith shakes her head. "Maybe we did an' don't any more. World's changed, Red. We changed it, all of us together. Even Buffy." She turns toward the door. "You do that...an' everything's different."  
********  
Perri Soames studies the girl across the table from her and takes a sip of wine. "He was accounted competent, once. It's a pity, the way his affection for Buffy Summers damaged his judgement."

"He's fallen apart," Kennedy grouses. "I mean...no disrespect intended...ma'am." She turns up her glass and takes a gulp to cover her irritation. "But you said it. He doesn't see the big picture at all anymore."

"We were afraid this would happen after Miss Summers was turned." Perri folds her arms and breathes deeply. She's discovered that to be effective at keeping the girl's attention. The thought makes her feel vaguely ill, but she dismisses that sensation at once. Kennedy required a leash, and she has it. "He simply became too attached to her to function as a Watcher should."

The Slayer nods and sips her soup. Well...she has some understanding of manners, at least. "I guess I understand where he was coming from. That trial I heard about...."

"The Cruciamentum, yes. There was some argument in the upper echelons regarding whether that was a barbaric practice and ought to be discontinued, but it was always up to Mr. Travers, of course. Not to a mere field Watcher, no matter his circumstances." Perri regards Kennedy thoughtfully. Her previous charge was the daughter of a wealthy sheik at the arse-end of Kazakhstan, intended as something of a censure for her poor thesis. The omens had suggested that girl would never be Called, and indeed she'd perished at the hands of Bringers well before Buffy's precipitate action a few months later. Now she has an actual Slayer in her hands, and she has no intention of losing her grip. "If Mr. Travers had been leading the entire Council to ruin...well, that would have been a different matter."

Kennedy nods. "I don't get it, Mrs. Soames. Our mission's supposed to be fighting the vampires, the demons, and the Forces of Darkness. Not making deals with them. Giles even left it up to Willow whether or not to _ensoul_ Harmony--not even whether to stake her instead, but whether she was 'salvageable'." She finishes up her drink--Kennedy has an admirable facility with alcohol, for an American--and seems mildly surprised when the waiter immediately produces more. Evidently she's been away from her family for quite some time.

"It's on my tab, Kennedy. Have all you like." Giles had unfortunately transferred a great deal of the Council's money into less-accessible accounts during the chaos, but there is enough for the moment. The lost assets will have to be recovered, though, and soon. "I'm astonished he didn't bother to assign you a Watcher. Your relationship with Willow makes her entirely unsuitable, even on an ad hoc basis."

"You seem to know what you're doing."

Perri just smiles and pretends to sip some more wine, watching the girl grin. Kennedy is far more transparent than she realizes. "I'm sure I could arrange something, as we've discussed before...if the situation were in proper hands."  
********  
Harmony prowls the Hyperion's fourth-floor halls. The knot in her stomach just keeps getting worse; even blood doesn't want to stay down today. She wants out. She wants to go roam the streets and maybe take on a few evil nasty vampires. God, she's jonesing for a real fight, and that's just loony. But even if they let her out, it's only...she checks her watch...3:30 in the afternoon. She'll be burnt to a crisp, even this late in the fall.

Maybe that's what she needs. Her way out.

Someone is talking in one of the unused rooms ahead of her. The Hyperion has room for way more than twenty Slayers and assorted groupies. Most of the Watchers turned up their noses at the place, and the rest--except for former Scoobies--joined them at a nicer place a few blocks away rather than lose status. The trainees were there, too, for safety, or so she was told. Harmony ignores the voice and keeps walking, figuring it's just some Slayer--no, not a Slayer, this is a guy--being a chatterbox on the phone. It's just one voice, as far as she can tell from this distance, and she doesn't think anyone here talks to themselves but Illyria.

"They're still making plans," the guy says. It sounds like...no, it _has to be_ Xander. Why the hell does she have to be a vampire when he's single? He's turned out a heck of a lot sexier than in high school. "I managed to freak out any bloodsuckers who looked like they were gonna accept protection--not that there were many, mistress." Mistress? Huh? Who the hell is he talking to? Well, too late to worry about it--she's already passing the door to the room he was in.

Xander looks up. "Whoa! Harm, get outta here! I'm on the phone with...my new girlfriend, and you're not spying on us, sorry. Out!"

"Girlfriend? You call your girlfriend 'mistress'?" That doesn't sound right. They were talking about vampires. And he hesitated before saying who it was. He doesn't smell like he was lying, though, and that's just freaky odd. Stall...stall. "What kind of kinky bondage games are you into, Xander?"

"None of your business, Harm. Get--" Xander's hand goes into his jacket pocket.

A woman's voice sputters faintly over the bad connection to his cell phone. "Harm? Harmony's there?" Oh God... _Buffy?_ "Xander, you idiot, she's a vampire, she heard us!"

"Got it, mistress." He clicks off the phone at the same time the stake comes out, and throws himself at her. Xander is only human, but he's bigger than her, and she can't remember where the exit to this hall goes. Harmony lets him collide with her and drives her knee into his crotch, producing a scream of pain.

Harm turns to run back down the hall. She can hear doors slamming open on the floor beneath her. She'll just tell the Slayers what she'd heard, and it'll be Xander who's in trouble, not her.

"Help!" Xander shrieks at the top of his lungs. "Vampire attack! Harmony's trying to kill me!"

The stairwell door bursts open as Aamina and Jaylynne charges into the hallway, stakes raised. Jaylynne's lip curls in a sneer--she's easily half again Harm's size. "Stinkin' monster," she growls. Harmony turns and runs the other way, shoving a moaning Xander to the floor as she dashes past.

Running footsteps echo from the stairwell at the other end of the hall, and she freezes. They're going to dust her, it's over, and she isn't even going to get a chance to warn _anybody_ about Xander. Some of the floors are still in terrible shape, but not in this wing.

Sunlight sparkles between the curtains from the nearest room. The only way out for her is through the sewers anyway, and she'll never get downstairs....

Curtains?

Harmony spins on her heel and dashes into the room, leaving the floor in a flying leap, and grabs at the curtains as plate glass shatters around her. Sunlight prickles at her skin even through the fabric; she can smell her hair crisping, and she's never going to get her perm to look right again, darn it, and then she's spinning in mid-air with the curtains billowing all around her. She clutches at them, trying to keep them covering her skin. Concrete slams into her hard enough that she hears ribs crack as she lands on her side. Desperately she manages to wrap the curtain around her head and stand up, only to find herself facing Kennedy as the Slayer emerges from an expensive grey late-model SUV. Toyota something or other...

Kennedy shouts something, and an older but still perky-looking British woman in a smart navy blue pantsuit scrambles out the other door as the Slayer darts in Harmony's direction. Harm gathers the curtain around her knees and pounds down the street at top speed. She can hear sizzling coming from her half-exposed left hand, feel the sunlight burning into her face even though it's as shielded as she can manage and still see. Not that she can see much with the brilliant reflections off cars dazzling her eyes.

She isn't dust yet, but where the heck is she supposed to go? There are Slayers shouting from behind her, charging out of the Hyperion, and here she is out in the sun instead of the sewers where it's stinky but safe...manhole! Harmony digs in the toe of her pricy shoe and kicks upward with as much force as she could manage. The manhole cover flies into the air--along with her shoe, dammit!--and she drops through the opening into the cool darkness.

Anne. She can tell Anne. Surely Anne will listen, and tell her what to do even if she's still too weak to help. Okay, so she's going to the shelter, and now all she has to do is fake out the dozen or so Slayers on her tail. With a whimper she tosses the curtains down a side passage.

God, she's so dead.  
********  
"What in the hell is this about, Ms. Soames?" Giles stares at the young Watcher through glasses that were broken when the shouting started and three Slayers had knocked him down while barging out of the kitchen.

"In five minutes, Rupert Giles, the rest of the Watchers in Los Angeles will walk through that door--enough for a quorum, under _your own new rules_ \--and you and your little band of children will be taken into custody, under the authority of the Watchers' Council of Great Britain." Soames's perfectly polished teeth shine as she grins smugly at him. "Charges of collusion with the forces of darkness. I must admit you've given us the opportunity sooner than anyone expected. With luck, we'll only execute you, not...oh, revive some of the more archaic punishments." She glances to one side at a green-looking Kennedy. "I suggest you come peacefully."

"You have no idea what you're doing, Soames!" This jumped-up little toady is going to _arrest_ him? "We're in the middle of an apocalypse--"

"Which you have demonstrated your complete inability to handle, _Giles_. And if I don't know what I'm doing...well, I'm certain Mr. Wyndham-Price is perfectly capable of managing things."

Jaylynne appears in the hallway, several other Slayers crowding in after her. "Why'd you call us back? We'd have had the vamp in another five minutes."

Soames shrugs. "Strategic considerations, Miss Naismith. I regret the escape of the undead, but you'll undoubtedly have the chance to destroy her soon enough."

Willow comes around the corner, trailed by Dawn, Connor, and Illyria. "Kennedy! What's--?" Kennedy grabs her girlfriend by the arm and pulled the witch away from Giles.

"A coup," Giles fumes. "This...imbecile and your girlfriend are implementing some plan of Roger Wyndham-Price's for a coup d'etat."

"That would be most unwise," Illyria understates. "I admire his dedication to achieving power, but he lacks--"

"Shut your mouth, you vile creature!" Soames interrupts. For the first time Giles had ever seen, the hellgod's eyes widen in shock. "You have no standing whatsoever. You should have been wiped from--"

Illyria seizes her by the throat and twists. "Insect." The crunch of vertebrae is audible even over that single word. Illyria releases the body to collapse against the wall. The Slayers throw themselves forward at Illyria and find Connor standing in the way. In the narrow hallway he can probably hold them off for some time, but soon they will all be trapped in a vice. 

"Ohmygod!" Dawn squeaks.

Giles pales, understanding Dawn's sentiment precisely. "Dear God, Illyria, you killed her!" Illyria rounds on him, but he presses on, not letting her speak. "Unless you intend to murder every Watcher, you have just destroyed any chance I had of regaining my authority, _as well as_ slaughtering a woman who no doubt believed she was doing the right thing."

"She was not," Illyria intones coldly. "Wyndham-Price is a fool."

Willow shoves Kennedy away, revulsion and shock painting her face. "Willow," Giles pants, "we have to get out of here before they pin us in this hall." But the redhead simply stands there, unable to speak.

"Fumare!" Dawn squeaks, managing to draw Willow's attention; smoke begins to billow from the younger woman's fingertips, filling the hall with astonishing speed.

"Illyria," Giles snaps, "we are leaving. You can stay here and fight Slayers until one of them succeeds in destroying you, or you may come with us and hope to at least partly repair the consequences of your actions." He has no intention of trusting her ever again, not after this, but better that she come along than kill more Watchers and Slayers, even of Wyndham-Price's faction. Connor seized Dawn and begins to hustle her away down the hall.

"I will come," Illyria says with a put-upon scowl. "You will need assistance in setting matters right." She strides away from him after Dawn.

"Will," Kennedy moans, sounding genuinely torn.

Willow glares furiously at her and turns away. "Where's Faith?" she asks Giles. "And this isn't all the other Slayers. We have to--"

"We have to go," Giles says firmly. "Any Slayers who support us will have to follow. We'll find a way to let them know where we are." He seized her by the shoulders. "Move!"

She does, and never once looks back.  
********  
"Ada Lang, Terrence Stahl, and Berenice Rogers refused to join us, as did most of the trainees." Gregory's features betray just a hint of the contempt in which he holds the traitors. "We have to presume they've sided with Rupert Giles."

They are seated around the same conference table Rupert Giles had used for tactical discussions. There are no Slayers here, which was how things were supposed to be. "Until Mr. Wyndham-Price has the opportunity to meet with us, I am acting head of the Council," Gregory concludes, "as was agreed. Is there any immediate business we need to dispose of before we discuss how and where to strike first?"

"What's he doing here?" Francis gestures angrily at the young man reclining at the far end of the table with a huge ice pack between his legs. "Harris has been with Giles practically since Giles became Summers' Watcher. He's got no right to be here."

"Look," Xander says, sitting up painfully, "you're right. I was Buffy's...her best friend. I...I'd have done anything for her. But she's dead, and I won't rest till the thing wearing her face is blowing in the wind. As for Giles...I'm sorry about how things have gone, but he's on the wrong side. I'm with you guys now."

Gregory shrugs in Francis' direction, then gives a small nod to Xander. "Mr. Harris's proven his worth, Mr. Cole. If nothing else, he knows Ms. Summers better than any of us. He can predict her actions far better than we can." Francis makes an irritable coughing noise and leans back in his chair. "Now," Gregory finishes, "it's time to put things back the way they belong."


	15. Haven: Kill All the Lawyers Act I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has not yet been converted from script format...but it will be!

JACK CADE. Nay, that I mean to do. Is not this a lamentable thing, that of the skin of an innocent lamb should be made parchment? that parchment, being scribbled o'er, should undo a man? Some say the bee stings: but I say, 'tis the bee's wax; for I did but seal once to a thing, and I was never mine own man since.

\--Shakespeare, _Henry VI, Part II_

TEASER

INT APARTMENT--DAY

A young woman in a grey pantsuit is seated before a cheap computer desk, typing; papers and books are spread evenly over the surface. The scene is suffused with pallid fluorescent light.

BRITTANY (to herself): ... in the case of a cestui que trust, Voorman vs. Eden suggests that legal persons which appear to have been created to circumvent presumption of death may--

WOMAN (offscreen): Morning. It's about time you got around to that question.

BRITTANY twists in her seat to look at the speaker, rubbing her eyes.

Standing in the apartment's doorway is LILAH MORGAN, wearing a similar pantsuit, along with a filmy green scarf around her neck.

LILAH: Pull an all-nighter? I hope you have some coffee left.

She peers around the kitchen doorway as if looking for a coffeepot.

BRITTANY: Aunt Lilah, you've got to stop this. I've told you, there are some things I won't do.

LILAH: You mean like joining the winning side?

BRITTANY (sarcastically): Winning? I thought you said Wolfram & Hart weren't interested in winning.

LILAH: Matter of interpretation, Britt. Sure, we own the world. That doesn't mean there's nothing left we want done with it.

Apparently not having found any coffee, she sits down in an armchair.

LILAH : Angel's played his role, chosen his side... gotten his reward. Things are coming together.

BRITTANY (skeptical): He didn't take your side. I'd have thought that meant you lose.

LILAH: Well... that depends.

BRITTANY: Depends on what?

LILAH (with a faint smile): On how well we played both ends.

CUT TO

EXT. ALLEYWAY--DAY

Tall buildings tower over this murky alley, blocking out virtually all the sunlight. A middle-aged, heavyset MAN runs by, panting and wheezing, only to find his path blocked by a M'FASHNIK DEMON wearing a dirty pair of jeans.

MAN: Oh god, oh god, I'm sorry!

M'FASHNIK: If you were really sorry, you'd come quietly.

GIRL (off-screen): Or if he had a death wish.

NOVEMBER appears out of a doorway behind the M'FASHNIK. She has a thicker build than we've seen in a Slayer before, though much of it is presumably muscle. She's wearing loose-fitting jeans, and what seems to be some kind of padded body armor over her shirt. He turns to face her.

M'FASHNIK: This doesn't concern you. Might wanna stay out of it.

NOVEMBER: I'm a Slayer, you petaQ. Anything you do concerns me.

M'FASHNIK: Look, there's a simple explanation for--

The M'FASHNIK is cut off as NOVEMBER rushes him, knocking him to the ground. He plows both fists into her midsection, not obviously hurting her but pushing her backwards so that he can get up.

M'FASHNIK : Fine. Never fought a Slayer. Should be fun.

NOVEMBER (in Klingon): yIHegh, toDSaH! (subtitled: Die, scum!)

NOVEMBER smashes her right fist into his jaw, to little effect. The DEMON punches her in the gut again, right and then left; once again, she's driven slightly backwards.

M'FASHNIK: What the hell are you talking about?

NOVEMBER rolls her eyes and kicks him in the stomach. He clutches it briefly, then charges at her, hands open as if to grab her. She seizes his left hand and swings him around into the alley wall, then shoves him backward against a dumpster. The M'FASHNIK staggers, apparently dazed.

NOVEMBER turns to look for the MAN and sees him lying in the alleyway covered in hardening slime. As she continues turning she finds herself face-to-face with a FYARL DEMON. A burst of slime splatters her in the face. She attempts to raise a fist, but her eyes roll back in her head and she topples to the pavement.

M'FASHNIK: Jeff! Wondered where you'd gotten to!

JEFF (unintelligible Fyarl, subtitled): You outran me, ya little goof! (looking at NOVEMBER) Hagaanah's not gonna like this.

M'FASHNIK: We'll work it out. Get Murray.

The M'FASHNIK lifts NOVEMBER, throwing her over his shoulder, while JEFF picks up the heavyset MAN in both arms.

M'FASHNIK : Hagaanah'll take care of her.

THEME PLAYS, CREDITS ROLL

Heaven's gates won't open up for me  
With these broken wings I'm fallin'  
An' all I see is you  
These city walls ain't got no love for me  
I'm on the ledge of the eighteenth story  
And oh I scream for you  
Come please I'm callin'  
And all I need from you  
Hurry I'm fallin', I'm fallin'  
Show me what it's like  
To be the last one standin'  
Teach me wrong from right  
And I'll show you what I can be  
Say it for me  
Say it to me  
And I'll leave this life behind me  
Say it if it's worth savin' me.

Theme: "Savin' Me," by Nickelback

Starring:  
Tom Lenk as Andrew Wells  
Jenna Edwards as November Hall  
Rachel Billings as Brittany Morgan  
Alona Tal as Michelle Foust  
Percy Daggs III as Gabriel Keller  
and David Boreanaz as Angel

Guest-starring:  
Stephanie Romanov as Lilah Morgan  
Robert Englund as Hagaanah  
Gigi Edgley as Mara  
Christopher Judge as "Keith"/Keth'Kar  
Ben Browder as "Jeff"

ACT I

EXT. CONVERTIBLE ON HIGHWAY--DAY

ANGEL is driving. The sun is shining on his face, the wind is blowing his hair, and his expression is grim and forboding. ANDREW is studying a map of Chicago, but is nonetheless grinning despite having to struggle with the wind trying to blow his map free.

ANDREW (excited): Okay, when we get to Fifth Street we need to hang a--

ANGEL: I know where the University of Chicago is.

ANDREW: Right, but--

ANGEL: I know my way around town.

ANDREW: Brittany lives several blocks from the college, and there's this complicated intersection. It'd be better to go a different way.

ANGEL (hesitating a moment): Oh. Okay, thanks.

ANDREW: When's the last time you were in Chicago?

ANGEL: 1934. But I've been reading maps. I can get by.

ANDREW: Oh. Well, it'll be great, you'll get to see all the sights, the new stuff they've built. And in the daytime, too! I guess you've never been to the Sears Tower.

ANGEL (irritated): No. Never. Look, I need to concentrate on taking the right exit here. (He begins trying to make his way across several lanes of traffic.)

ANDREW: Yeah, I guess it can't be easy losing the old vam-pire reflexes.

ANGEL: I'll get used to it. When we get into town, you ought to find us apartments while I speak to Brittany.

ANDREW (slightly less enthusiastic): Right. Um... you're the boss.

CUT TO:

CITY STREET MONTAGE--DAY

We pass through several scenes of varying amounts of traffic, including one shot which shows ANGEL's convertible stopped in bumper-to-bumper vehicles; ANGEL appears, just for a moment, to be enjoying the sun.

INT. HALLWAY-DAY

A dimly-lit hallway. BRITTANY emerges from her apartment, carrying a satchel and holding keys. She begins to close the door, and we see a closeup of her hand with keys as she starts to lock it. Another hand catches her arm.

BRITTANY: You don't want to do that.

CUT back to a wider viewpoint.

ANGEL: Why not? Because you're a law student?

BRITTANY: Well, yes. The term "assault" comes to mind.

ANGEL: I haven't assaulted you.

BRITTANY: Common misconception. What you're thinking of is "battery". And, in fact, a case could be made you've done that too, depending on the type.

ANGEL: I'm not here to hurt you. I just want to talk. My name's Angel.

BRITTANY: And you were sent by Rupert Giles, am I right? Look... I have classes I need to get to, and I don't think we have anything to say to each other.

ANGEL (catching hold of her as she turns away): Is this really the life you want to live?

BRITTANY (shaking him off roughly): Defending the helpless? Yes.

ANGEL: Please... wait. Stop and talk to me, just for a few minutes.

This time, when he takes hold of her arm again, she slams him into the wall with a crash. He staggers and nearly collapses to the floor; BRITTANY steadies him and keeps him from falling.

BRITTANY (angry, but just a little concerned): I know about you, Angel. I know what you've been through, and I know what you're thinking about me. But there's more to protecting people than being some sort of comic book superhero.

ANGEL: I know there is. But that's not what people like us--like you, I mean, are here for. Slayers exist to fight demons, Brittany. Not to file papers.

BRITTANY (losing patience): Tell me something, Angel. Are you saying that if Wolfram and Hart had framed your friend... Lorin, I think her name was?

ANGEL: Lorne, and he's a he. (as she tries to speak) And they wouldn't have bothered.

BRITTANY: On principle, then. Would Lorne deserve to be defended in court, if it happened? Or are you saying I'm only supposed to punch him out? (overriding ANGEL, this time) I know, he's green, right? So it would be a problem in court. But not all demons are like that.

ANGEL: Okay... okay, point taken. I... yeah, I would want him to have a good lawyer. I'm not sure if he's actually got any legal rights... . (BRITTANY's brow goes up) Strictly on the basis of the law, I mean. But he deserves to. What I'm saying about you, though, is that you have talents other people don't have. It'd be a shame for you to waste them.

BRITTANY: I'm not.

She turns and begins to walk away.

BRITTANY (continued as she walks down the hall): Maybe there was a time when I would have had to do what you want, Angel. When I'd have had the responsibility. But I've got other abilities than just those. You don't get to limit me to the role you think I should play.

ANGEL (hesitating, then loudly): Where's November?

BRITTANY: Lives just across the hall. Check the door numbers; it was your people who set her up. She'll probably listen to you.

ANGEL: I called. She's not home.

BRITTANY: Be patient.

BRITTANY walks away, leaving ANGEL standing in the hall alone.

CUT TO:  
INT. CUSHY APARTMENT--DAY

Bags are stacked neatly all over the room -- on the floor, in the closet, on the bed. The walls are painted white, reflecting cheerful sunshine all around from the large window at stage left. ANDREW enters from the bathroom talking on a cell phone.

ANDREW: That's too bad, Phil. I guess it was inevitable. These things... well, nothing lasts forever. (pauses to listen) Yeah, the market on those camera things was great at first, but with the war going on most vampires aren't too worried about what they look like. So, you'll be in town by next week? Cool! See you soon!

He hangs up and dials another number. After several rings he hangs up and dials a second time.

WILLOW (voiceover, cheerily): Hi, Willow speaking!

ANDREW: Will! Hey, I was getting a little worried. We got in about an hour ago.

WILLOW (v.o.): Giles has been complaining about cutting someone off about that long ago. It's just him.

ANDREW (grinning): And the old-school Watcher fumbles again... glad everything's okay with you guys, and we're doing fine, except we're having a little trouble finding our Slayers.

WILLOW (v.o.): Ummm... .you tried November's mobile?

CUT TO

INT RED ROOM--DAY

NOVEMBER is lying on a cot in a nondescript windowless room with red walls. Her cell phone begins to ring. The M'FASHNIK demon we saw earlier picks it up from a small metal desk. We can see NOVEMBER's eyes following him, but she doesn't appear able to move otherwise.

ANDREW (v.o.): November? We couldn't reach you at home, so I thought I'd try your cell. Angel has all kinds of trouble with these things.

M'FASHNIK: You know the girl?

ANDREW (v.o.): Hey, who's this?

M'FASHNIK: If she's a friend of yours, we need to talk. North end of Garfield Park. Be there by midnight tonight, you got that?

ANDREW (v.o.): Who are you?

M'FASHNIK: You'll know us when you see us. (hanging up) Well. Looks like you've got friends coming for you after all.

FADE TO BLACK

END ACT I


	16. Haven: Kill All the Lawyers Act II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is still in script format...for now.

ACT II

INT. OFFICE--NIGHT

GABRIEL and MICHELLE are sitting in a pair of metal chairs in a small office, which looks fairly normal except for the heavy metal posters hanging on the walls. GABRIEL is clutching her hand, but it's not clear whether he needs support or is trying to restrain her. Behind the cluttered desk (with a nameplate that reads simply "MARA") is a young woman in a bright orange blouse, with hair that appears dyed to match and a number of large hoop earrings. It must be her office all the same, because she's speaking into the office phone.

MARA (in a lower-class British accent): ...yeah, great, good for you. Glad it worked out. Got to go! (looking up) Hey, sorry about that. Boss says we got to tend to the phones first.

GABRIEL: We understand. It's not a big deal.

MARA: You get we're not a travel agency, right?

MICHELLE (impatiently): His contact said to speak to you.

MARA: Right, right... it's not a problem, we pass the occasional poor sod along. Me, I don't think running away from your problems is all that bright, but I get it.

GABRIEL: We'll be coming back when--

The office phone rings again. MARA rolls her eyes and checks the display to see who's calling.

MARA (annoyed): I got to take this one. (picks it up and listens for a moment) Hey, bugger that!... yes, we're sisters, so?... No, I don't need your approval to "validate" me! As long's I follow the rules, I can do what I damn well please. Sod off already! (hangs up)

MICHELLE: Family problems?

MARA: You might say that. Say, what's this boy been feeding you on? You've gone all skin and bones.

GABRIEL (speaking up first): She's been in a coma five years. She'll recover.

MARA stares at him a moment, then back at MICHELLE. After a moment a lightbulb seems to go on above her head.

MARA: Right. I see how it is. You hungry, miss? We don't have any vampires on staff, but I might be able to find you something.

GABRIEL and MICHELLE exchange puzzled looks.

MICHELLE (grumpily): As long as you don't kill anyone?

GABRIEL gives her an approving nod.

MARA (rising from her seat): You want over closer to the Uni. I'll give you directions when I get back, it'll just be a moment.

MARA walks past MICHELLE and out the door.

CUT TO

EXT. PARK--NIGHT

BRITTANY and ANGEL are pacing back and forth in a rather worn-looking park while ANDREW sits on a broken-down bench. The sound of light traffic can be heard, and every now and then a car passes by.

BRITTANY: Remind me again why I'm here.

ANDREW: This is kind of a bad neighborhood?

ANGEL: More importantly, something managed to kidnap a Slayer. That takes power.

BRITTANY (self-satisfied): Which you don't have.

ANDREW: Exactly. We - -and November -- need your help. If all you want is to be a student, you can go back to it once she's free.

ANGEL glares at ANDREW, but he doesn't seem to notice.

BRITTANY: That's what I want.

A cloaked figure can be seen approaching from the street.

ANDREW: Look sharp now. It could be anything. Well... anything close to human-sized. And shaped. A vam-pire... or a Kleynach demon... or... 

The figure throws back the hood of its raincoat. It's the M'FASHNIK. ANDREW looks startled and just a little nervous.

M'FASHNIK: I am Keth'Kar. Your friend is with us.

ANGEL clenches his fists as if preparing to fight. Before he can do anything, BRITTANY steps forward.

BRITTANY: Keth'Kar, she had better be unharmed.

M'FASHNIK (spreading his hands): She's fine. You'll see. And call me Keith. Humans usually do.

With a challenging look, KEITH turns his back on the group and begins walking away.

ANGEL: It could be a trap.

BRITTANY (following, leaving ANGEL behind; sarcastic): What kind of a vampire are you?

ANGEL: Um... not, anymore.

BRITTANY: How does... oh. I didn't realize. Good for you.

(Disturbed's "Down With the Sickness" fades in.)  
Drowning deep in my sea of loathing/broken your servant I kneel (will you give in to me)

The group crosses the street, heading for what looks like a rundown tenement, with KEITH continually casting glances back over his shoulder as if expecting -- or hoping -- to be attacked. 

It seems what's left of my human side/is slowly changing in me (will you give in to me)

The double doors of the tenement's main entrance have been spray-painted with a glowering red eye.

looking at my own reflection/when suddenly it changes/violently it changes (oh no)

KEITH throws open the doors and strides confidently inside.

there is no turning back now/you've woken up the demon in me

Unexpectedly, the walls are recently painted, the floor is carpeted, and all the lights appear to be working. A handful of demons and humans are sitting in what appears to be a lobby.

Get up, come on get down with the sickness/Get up, come on get down with the sickness/Get up, come on get down with the sickness

JEFF, the Fyarl demon, boogies past with headphones on, singing along unintelligibly, and vanishes through a bead-curtained doorway.

Open up your hate and let it flow into me... (music fades out)

A huge logo has been painted on the upper wall of a large interior atrium; it resembles a bat-winged human swooping down with a flaming sword, with the words "Hagaanah P. I.". The surrounding rooms have been converted into office space.

MARA (off-screen, cheerfully): You've reached Hagaanah P. I., we defend the defenseless, how can we help you?

ANGEL, ANDREW, and BRITTANY come to a halt in the lobby, staring. ANGEL looks especially stunned. KEITH goes on ahead into the largest office, where he begins gesturing to someone we can't see.

MARA (off-screen): Look, I've told you, we can't take your reproductive-rights case. It's against policy.

BRITTANY looks through the doorway into MARA's office, frowning, as MARA hangs up on the caller.

MARA (under her breath, a little guiltily): Skilosh demon. They keep bugging us.

ANDREW (quietly to ANGEL): In the Re'he'val dimension, a hagaanah's a kind of avatar of the local deities, that comes to aid the worshippers when they're in danger. It's sort of an avenging--

HAGAANAH (off-screen): Angel!

HAGAANAH is a tall, red-skinned horned demon of the same type as the late IZZERIEL the Devil, of the Circle of the Black Thorn. He emerges from the main office and throws his hands open in greeting.

HAGAANAH : Sweet Jesus, I never thought I'd actually see you in person! You are an inspiration to us all, my man!

HAGAANAH seizes ANGEL's right hand and shakes it vigorously.

HAGAANAH: What can I do for you? And... hey... when'd you shanshu? Word hasn't gotten around yet... congratulations!

ANGEL (babbling): I... ah... I don't... think we've met.

HAGAANAH (with a shrug): Hagaanah of Hagaanah Private Eye. I suppose... well, everyone knows you. Shouldn't have assumed, sorry.

ANDREW (swallowing his nervousness): You have my Slayer. I want her back.

HAGAANAH (studying ANDREW): You're... and... right. I, er... she attacked Keith and Jeff while they were out on the Murray case. I suppose it's all an honest mistake. No harm done, no offense taken?

ANDREW: As long as she's okay... I suppose.

HAGAANAH: Jeff! (poking his head through the bead curtains) Jeff, c'mon! We need you to wake the girl. (to ANDREW) Sorry... she was being pretty violent, we've had to keep her immobilized.

JEFF appears from the doorway.

BRITTANY: I know how she is. We can't blame you, I guess.

ANGEL gives her an uncomfortable glance as they follow HAGAANAH into a hallway. As ANGEL passes, we see GABRIEL and MICHELLE waiting in chairs next to the hall; MICHELLE changes to game face, licking her lips, as he goes by. GABRIEL scowls, picks up the thermos on her chair arm, and offers it to her a little roughly.

HAGAANAH opens the door to the RED ROOM we saw earlier, where NOVEMBER is still lying on the cot. JEFF goes over to her, and we see a closeup of him poking at her arm with his stubby claws; they come away leaving red marks.

HAGAANAH: She's been treated as well as we can manage -- we got her up once for a bite to eat and a bathroom break and she nearly took Mara's head off. Has to be watched at all times when she's not like this.

ANDREW: I, um... see the difficulty.

NOVEMBER jackknifes forward on the cot, then leaps off the end, shouting and putting up her fists.

NOVEMBER: Get the hell away from me!

ANDREW: Whoa, whoa... we're here to spring you. Calm down!

BRITTANY (amused): November. You were interfering with an... investigation.

NOVEMBER: They were trying to kill a guy... 

JEFF rumbles something in Fyarl.

HAGAANAH: Stan Murray, drug lord. He hired hit men to kill G'natha, a balancing entity who was interfering with his street dealers. Real scumbag... Murray, I mean. We'd already caught the assassins. Took Murray down today.

ANGEL: What'd you do with them?

HAGAANAH (shrugging): Took 'em to G'natha's dimension where G'natha can have them tried. It's not exactly a human legal system, but it seems pretty fair to me. If you want to see some papers on the basics... .

BRITTANY: Actually, I already have some documentation.

HAGAANAH gives her a startled look.

BRITTANY : Long story. I'll look it over.

ANGEL and NOVEMBER look skeptical, ANDREW a little less so, but before they can make any objections MARA pokes her head into the room, looking mildly ill.

MARA: Oi! Boss! Er... (she squints as if seeing something or suffering a headache)... Mugging on Columbus Boulevard. I can handle it myself, but I'll be gone a few.

ANGEL (boggled): She gets visions? You have someone with visions?

MARA (with a roll of her eyes at ANGEL): By the way, remind me to check the wards on my deposit box, and if D'hoffryn stops by again tell him (she makes a vee-gesture) for me. Can't touch me 'less I break the rules.

MARA vanishes in a pillar of smoke, leaving ANGEL, ANDREW, and NOVEMBER staring. BRITTANY also looks surprised but doesn't seem to understand what has happened.

ANDREW: That is just... wrong.

HAGAANAH: Vengeance is what you make of it. Just ask your buddy there. (He points at ANGEL.) He could be eating the innocent, you know.

ANGEL: I'm not sure I--

HAGAANAH: Look. We're on the same side here. Your friend's fine. Go home, let the young lady take a look over her documents, and if there's anything terribly wrong I'm sure you'll find it.

BRITTANY takes a glowering NOVEMBER by the arm and manages to usher her into the hallway. Still looking skeptical, ANGEL and ANDREW follow.

KEITH (off-screen): ...so this cross in your yard, it was on fire?

FEMALE VAMPIRE (off-screen): No, but I would've been if I'd run into it!

BRITTANY (over her shoulder, pleased with herself): Everybody's got different gifts, Angel. It's how you use them.

FADE OUT

END ACT II


	17. Haven: Kill All the Lawyers Act III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not yet converted to proper prose. Please stand by.

ACT III

INT. BRITTANY'S APARTMENT--NIGHT

BRITTANY, ANGEL, ANDREW, and NOVEMBER are all crowded into the small living room of the apartment. ANGEL and ANDREW are squeezed into a loveseat, with ANDREW studying some papers. BRITTANY is at her desk, and NOVEMBER is pacing up and down the floor.

NOVEMBER: I can't believe we let the filthy Ha'DIbaHmey go! I mean, they've got a vengeance demon on staff!

ANDREW (absently): I knew a vengeance demon. Buffy worked with her. She didn't do anything to Anya till Anya started killing people.

NOVEMBER: Well, maybe she should have!

ANDREW (sternly): ruv 'oHbe' bortaS'e', 'ach rut rurchuq bIH. (subtitled: Revenge isn't justice, but sometimes they're close.)

NOVEMBER looks chastened, but keeps pacing nervously.

BRITTANY: I know you guys want to believe the agency is evil, but... (she shrugs)... I'm not finding anything here. The forms can be pretty different, but they look fair, and Murray'll have a lawyer. The only thing is that technically the extradition's illegal, but I don't know that we should let that get in the way. It's not like G'natha can appear in an American court.

ANGEL: Well, he could.

BRITTANY: They'd haul him off to a zoo, Angel. Or a research lab.

ANGEL: What if there's a loophole you're not seeing? You're just a student.

BRITTANY: There are loopholes in everything, Angel. You should know that. No system's perfect. He'll just have to trust his lawyer like everyone else. As long as he passes the vomero... nasal test, whatever that is, he should be treated just fine, not that I have a lot of sympathy for the guy.

ANDREW (suddenly concerned): Vomeronasal test?

BRITTANY: In the opening procedures. Page three.

ANDREW (flipping back): Uh... this is bad. "The subject must be tested for proper vomeronasal function using the standard emotional stimuli," which I think must mean people who feel a certain way, "in order to establish competence to stand trial."

ANGEL: Mental competence? That doesn't sound unusual, except maybe the method. What's vomeronasal mean?

NOVEMBER (worried): It's an organ, part of the nose really. It sort of... smells emotions, lets you feel them directly.

ANDREW: If it's just a minor problem they'll confine him, but, um... if it's sufficiently disordered he can be, basically... put to sleep. Or summarily executed, depending on how you look at it.

ANGEL and BRITTANY look at NOVEMBER and ANDREW, not fully understanding what's wrong.

ANDREW : Humans don't have one.

CUT TO

INT. HAGAANAH P.I.--NIGHT

We're facing the double doors leading into Hagaanah's offices. They're kicked in by BRITTANY, allowing her, NOVEMBER, ANGEL, and ANDREW to enter. JEFF and KEITH run into the atrium, which is now empty.

KEITH: Hey! (He stuffs a sheaf of bills he was holding into his pants pocket.) You guys're gonna have to pay for that!

ANGEL: I think we'll take it out of your salary.

ANGEL charges KEITH, who clobbers him with a punch to the jaw. ANGEL staggers backward, stumbling over a chair, and falls.

BRITTANY: We know about your plan to kill Stan Murray.

She kicks KEITH in the leg, and they begin to trade blows. NOVEMBER throws a chair at JEFF, trying to stay out of the way of his paralyzing mucus. Instead of using it, though, he closes with her and tries to grab. ANDREW tries to sneak along the walls toward the main office.

KEITH: The man's a drug dealer. What's your problem? He'll get a fair trial.

NOVEMBER (peppering JEFF with blows): No... he... won't.

BRITTANY: He'll fail the vomeronasal test. Any human would.

MARA teleports in behind ANDREW and grabs him, pinning his arms.

ANDREW (struggling futilely): Humans don't have a working vomeronasal organ!

JEFF slams NOVEMBER bodily against the wall; she gasps, winded, but doesn't seem seriously hurt. She begins pummeling him again the moment he lets go.

KEITH: Seriously? That explains a lot.

KEITH lifts BRITTANY, turns her sideways, and smacks her downwards into the floor. She promptly kicks his feet out from under him.

KEITH (continued from the floor): All these wars... the crime rate... I mean, you can know people's feelings (he gets up) and enjoy their pain or just not care, but if you didn't know at all?

ANGEL finally begins to pick himself up off the floor, looking dazed. BRITTANY vaults to her feet facing KEITH. MARA lifts ANDREW into the air; he kicks backwards at her but isn't able to hurt her.

HAGAANAH (off-screen): Hey, guys, we've got a problem. (He enters from the hallway.) Stan and all his hitmen failed the vom... .What the hell?

ANDREW: That's why we came, about the Murray case!

HAGAANAH (with a shrill whistle): Hey, hey, HOLD IT!! (Everyone stops fighting.) You folks knew this was going to happen? Why didn't you say something? They're talking about calling a mistrial 'cause something's wrong with the test. I don't want those guys back on the streets.

NOVEMBER (out of breath): We didn't know till we looked through the legal papers.

MARA: They say humans don't have a vomeronasal organ. Whatever the bloody thing is.

HAGAANAH looks at her curiously. BRITTANY sits ANGEL down in a chair, examining his head as she listens. JEFF stares around the room, looking confused.

MARA: Hey, I never noticed anything wrong with me when I was human.

BRITTANY: It's called civilization. We figured out how to get by without one.

KEITH (examining her doubtfully): If you say so.

HAGAANAH: Obviously there's been some kind of misunderstanding.

ANGEL: I'd say.

HAGAANAH: If there's really nothing wrong with the test, I can talk the defense into waiving the test and mistrial as a set. I don't much like the idea of folks wandering the streets without a vomeronasal organ, but I don't expect an acquittal anyway.

ANGEL: That's it? You talk to them, he doesn't get executed?

HAGAANAH (with a shrug): Why not?

ANGEL's party look at each other, surprised and a little confused.

ANDREW: We'll check in and see how things went.

HAGAANAH: I think I should hire a human liason. Someone to let me know about these things ahead of time.

BRITTANY: That'd help. And, uh... we'll pay for the door.

KEITH: Yeah, thanks.

The Slayers and Watchers, still a little doubtful, begin filing out into the street.

JEFF (Fyarl, subtitled): So no more crush?

FADE TO BLACK  
END ACT III

CODA

INT. BRITTANY'S APARTMENT--NIGHT

BRITTANY is examining ANGEL's head again from an armchair; he is seated on the floor. NOVEMBER and ANDREW are sitting on the loveseat, talking quietly in Klingon.

BRITTANY: You're going to have to be more careful. You're a lot easier to hurt now. I wondered what was up when I slammed you into the wall earlier.

ANGEL: And you didn't wonder why I was out in the daytime?

BRITTANY: You wouldn't be the first vampire to sneak in through the sewers, or run around under a coat.

ANGEL: But you understood what had happened when I brought it up.

BRITTANY (nodding hesitantly): I did.

ANGEL: I guess you could have found out about the Shanshu from Giles. (a beat) But that's not where you heard, is it?

BRITTANY: No. My aunt told me.

ANGEL: You've been in touch with Lilah?

BRITTANY: Uh-huh. Since before she died. She's the one they sent to recruit me. We let them think that I'm on the fence; it helps that I'm studying law.

ANGEL: "We"?

BRITTANY: My aunt is a slave in a hell dimension. You think she wants me to join her when I die?

ANGEL: If she thought it would help her... .

BRITTANY: It won't, and she knows it. She... (looking around) ...passes on information to me. Things that are supposed to make me want to join the winning side.

ANGEL: What do you mean, "winning"? We beat their army.

BRITTANY: There's more than one kind of apathy, Angel. People get tired of fighting. And when they do, sometimes they do things that are worse than the war ever was, to make an end of it. Angel, tell me something. If Wolfram and Hart aren't interested in winning... what did they have an army for?

FOCUS IN ON  
ANGEL's face

ANGEL (hesitating): I... I really don't know.

BLACK SCREEN  
END


	18. Schism: Tell Me All Your Thoughts on Gog Act I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yet to be prosified.

"If there is hope," Winston wrote, "it lies in the proles."  
\-- _1984_ , George Orwell

TEASER

EXT. STOCK FOOTAGE MONTAGE OF HOUSTON --NIGHT

EXT. SMALL CHURCH -- NIGHT

Camera zooms in on a small brick building with a tall plate-glass window down the front above the doors. A large sign, partly hidden by a bush from our perspective, reads "ASHWOOD ST. CHUR--", with a meeting schedule and the motto "Christ the Lord is risen today!"

INT. SMALL CHURCH -- NIGHT

Enter on a chaotic fight scene: SADHA, DENA, OZ, and REGAN are locked in combat with half a dozen VAMPIRES in a CHURCH AUDITORIUM. The room is recognizable mostly by the pews and a lectern on a raised rectangular platform; it appears to be almost devoid of artwork, though there's a large curtain behind the lectern. Focus in on DENA, who has pinned a PUNK GIRL vampire to a cushioned pew and is pounding her brutally in the face. A vampire in a COWBOY hat seizes DENA by the shoulders and yanks her off, tossing her into the third pew back. He offers a hand to the PUNK, who looks offended by the gesture.

OZ is being circled by a PERKY ASIAN GOTH who keeps winking at him and licking her lips. He's looking around as if expecting to find a weapon that isn't there.

PERKY GOTH: I've never tasted a werewolf before. I hear you can be really...exotic.

OZ: Slightly disturbing, but possible.

PERKY GOTH: Wonder what I'd get if I turned you.

OZ: Don't think I want to know.

OZ picks up a book from the nearest pew and shoves it at her. She grabs it and holds it out to him contemptuously; it's a songbook.

OZ (calmly): Oops.

SADHA has been pressed up against the lectern by a PIMPLY NERD and a middle-aged CHURCH LADY, both of whom are fighting more skillfully than their looks would indicate. She picks up the lectern and whacks the NERD with it, knocking him off the platform and into a table in front of the aisle between the pews. With him out of the way, she seizes the CHURCH LADY and tosses her up and through the curtains to the sound of breaking glass and a huge splash. A gush of water pours out towards SADHA, who dodges out of its path. However, the CHURCH LADY then appears from behind the curtains, drenched but unharmed, and begins climbing out of the baptistry.

SADHA (thoroughly exasperated): Don't these people consecrate anything?

DENA dashes down the aisle to stake the NERD, who is lying amidst a pile of toppled Communion trays from beneath the table.

DENA: I said no! Don't you remember me saying this was a bad place for a trap?

SADHA: I suppose I didn't think you were serious. It's a church...

SADHA picks up the lid of a Communion tray, which does have a handle shaped like a small square cross, and hurls it like a frisbee at the CHURCH LADY.

SADHA: I was expecting a few more crosses, at least.

DENA: This church doesn't believe the supernatural exists in the modern world. (The PUNK is coming up behind her.) At least, not get-at-able.

She elbows the PUNK in the stomach, then tosses her over her shoulder to slam into the CHURCH LADY.

DENA: They don't cast out demons or lay on hands or anything. It's nuts.

SADHA manages to stake the CHURCH LADY just as the PUNK whacks her in the head from behind. She is knocked to the floor but immediately leaps up.

SADHA: I suppose I should have done a bit more research. I don't suppose the graveyard is consecrated either?

DENA: Nope.

REGAN is fighting a JOGGER in sweats; he keeps evading her punches. She shrugs, looks around, and sees a pew stacked with Bibles, which she begins tossing at him. The JOGGER dodges two; when he catches the third his hands begin to steam. OZ appears behind the distracted JOGGER, shoves him to the ground, and stakes him, then picks up a Bible to look at it curiously.

OZ: I'd ask if that move was kosher, but...

REGAN gives him a blank look.

OZ: Never mind.

The PERKY GOTH appears right behind REGAN.

PERKY GOTH (murmuring into REGAN's ear): Mmmm...Slayer blood.

REGAN (reaching back to seize the vampire's head): Mmmm. And in church, too. A little too hentai for me, sorry. (She twists, and we hear a sharp snap.)

The COWBOY has begun to trade blows with DENA. She promptly trips him, toppling him over the end of a pew.

DENA: There is one thing about this place...

SADHA (struggling with the PUNK): What would that be?

DENA grabs the COWBOY by the shoulders, lifts him slightly, and slams him down with all her might, chest-first on the blunt raised top of the end of the pew with a great crunch.

DENA: Lots and lots of wood.

The COWBOY dusts.

SADHA: Interesting.

SADHA pulls the large knife she carries from her belt and, forcing the PUNK to her knees in front of her, she drags the knife across the PUNK's throat. As she does this, the camera closes in on her hands and....

FUZZY GREYISH FLASHBACK

SADHA is cutting the throat of a young BOY with the same knife, in roughly the same position as for the PUNK.

END FLASHBACK

As the PUNK dusts, SADHA gasps and staggers off the platform, disoriented.

THEME PLAYS, CREDITS ROLL

Theme: "What I've Done," Linkin Park

Starring:  
Aishwarya Rai as Sadha Kaur  
Ellen Muth as Dena Greer  
Erica Hubbard as Regan Stacey  
Roy Dotrice as Roger Wyndham-Price  
Ivana Baquero as Solita Munoz  
and Seth Green as Daniel "Oz" Osbourne

Guest Starring:  
Drew Fuller as Marshall  
Callum Blue as Ravensdale  
Camille Winbush as Ugandan Slayer  
Tamanna Bhatia as Shefali  
Aryan Khan as Harsha  
Bernard White as Benoy  
Madhuri Dixit as Damini

ACT I

EXT. RENTAL HOUSE -- NIGHT

(Maroon 5's "How Far We've Come" is playing softly.)  
Wakin' up at the start of the end of the world/But it's feelin' just like every other mornin' before/Now I'm wondrin' what my life is gonna mean if it's gone/The cars are moving like a half a mile an hour and I

INT. RENTAL HOUSE -- NIGHT

DENA, SADHA, OZ, and REGAN are back at the students' home; DENA is standing near the kitchen door with a large sandwich, while the others are squeezed into the sofa, with OZ in the middle. SADHA raises a glass full of blood and sips it; her eyes seem a little unfocused.

Started starin' at the passengers who're wavin' goodbye/Can you tell me what was ever really special about me all this time?

OZ: Better?

SADHA (putting the glass down on the coffee table): Better. I...thought I was done with those.

OZ: How long?

(Music fades out.)

SADHA (thoughtful): It's approaching seven months now since I was ensouled.

OZ (sounding certain): You didn't tell Giles that, did you?

SADHA: No one's been ensouled for more than about eighteen months, except Angel, of course. And Spike. I'm as stable as Rupert can expect any of us to be.

OZ (after a moment to consider): It wasn't something you chose.

SADHA: No, it wasn't. The thought of confronting Buffy was...a little unnerving, but the closest she ever came to me was when she visited Beijing. My sisters and I believed the panic was excessive, and we went on with business as usual. I'd never have done this on my own. I was...content with my existence.

REGAN (reluctantly): It must be hard. I guess you've killed a lot of people.

DENA eats her sandwich, looking bored.

SADHA: They aren't really things I did. I remember them, and they're unsettling. But they were never truly my actions.

DENA: Denial much?

SADHA: Frankly, no. It's a simple fact. I am not the creature who...committed the atrocities I remember.

OZ: I get that. Fair enough.

Someone knocks on the door. DENA checks her watch, then goes to answer. Standing outside is MARSHALL, a tall, brown-haired college boy in a Rice University sweatshirt. DENA pulls him close and gives him a perfunctory kiss on the lips.

MARSHALL: We've still got time to make it to the late-night devo. You up?

DENA (loudly): I'm outta here, guys.

SADHA: Is that wise? I've heard that incidents of drug-related gang violence are up 300%.

MARSHALL (looking SADHA straight in the eye): Devo's at a private house, and my date's a demon hunter. I think we'll all be fine. (to DENA) Who's this?

DENA: She's...my new teacher. Sort of.

SADHA (smoothly): I'll be joining the college faculty next semester. Comparative Religions. Dena will be one of my students.

MARSHALL (uncomfortable): Really.

DENA: It's...a requirement. Everybody's got to have their Humanities courses.

SADHA: I'm interested in studying your local faith communities, to be honest. Would it be a problem if I came along?

DENA starts to shake her head, refusing.

MARSHALL (enthusiastically): Can't promise you won't be offended, but feel free. (with a chuckle) Jesus loves wacky liberal faculty members too.

OZ: Regan, we still need to find that other demon hunter. Are you up for that?

REGAN (getting up): Yeah, um...We can check the places she was seen last.

REGAN hurries out of the room, apparently uncomfortable, leaving OZ to trail after her. OZ shrugs at MARSHALL.

MARSHALL: It's cool. Just don't wait too long. You don't want to miss out on the Lord.

OZ: Really not worried. (Exit OZ.)

MARSHALL (to SADHA): You seem to know something about demons. I'm surprised.

DENA is fidgeting, almost jumping out of her skin, but apparently isn't willing to explain about SADHA.

SADHA: You shouldn't be. Perhaps I can teach you something as well.

DENA: Hon, head on out to the car. I need to talk to Sadha a minute.

MARSHALL shrugs, frowning confusedly, and leaves.

DENA: Are you insane? Have a death wish or something?

SADHA: Why should that bother you if I do? I'm genuinely interested in what it is you believe in.

DENA's mouth works soundlessly.

SADHA: You're my student, after all.

DENA (recovering): Right. Of course. Just don't blame me if you get staked or...cast out. Is that possible?

SADHA: I'd expect you to know. Don't you?

DENA: Um. Of course. Yeah.

Music picks up as SADHA and DENA head for the door.

I believe the world is burning to the ground/Oh well, I guess we're gonna find out/Let's see how far we've come/Let's see how far we've come/I believe it all is coming to an end/Oh well, I guess we're gonna pretend...

FLASH TO  
EXT. ESTATE--NIGHT

A large Southern manor house in good condition. The driveway is filled with cars. (The music fades again.)

INT. STUDY--NIGHT

ROGER WYNDHAM-PRICE is seated behind a desk, examining some papers. Across the desk from him are RAVENSDALE and a young black SLAYER whose eyes rove warily over the study. Her hair is cropped tightly against her skull; she's wearing cheap American-style clothing.

ROGER (in Swahili, subtitled): You understand what it is I want you to do.

SLAYER (subtitled): Track down the renegade and test her and her Slayer. Don't try to kill her without a perfect opportunity.

ROGER (subtitled): That's correct. I need to know what kind of protection she has. For the moment, it's important that you not get yourself killed.

SLAYER (subtitled, lowering her head): It is my duty to die for the cause, sir.

ROGER: (subtitled, insistent): Only if it's necessary. The world has changed. I mean for this war to be won, finally, now that we have the soldiers we need. You are too valuable an asset to expend now.

SLAYER (subtitled): If that is your order, sir.

ROGER (subtitled): It is. I need your protection. Remember that neither you nor your little brother are in this country legally yet. If she were to kill me before I've finished arranging to provide for you, you would both be deported back to Uganda. You might survive a tour of duty as a soldier; he, however, surely would not.

SLAYER (subtitled): True. Thank you, sir.

ROGER: (subtitled, with a casual wave of his hand): You may go now.

RAVENSDALE: Slayer against Slayer...it's a nasty business, sir.

The SLAYER leaves the room, still staring nervously about.

ROGER: It's already happening, Ravensdale. I'm trying to keep it from being prolonged any more than necessary. And by making use of her, I can ensure both obedience and some measure of secrecy.

RAVENSDALE: It will be a relief to have the war over, sir. Still...I must say it's hard to imagine.

ROGER: Simply imagine that you were never a Watcher, Ravensdale. You know nothing of demons or vampires. Yet at the same time imagine yourself perfectly safe. The world that ordinary people believe they live in will become reality...once the enemy has been eradicated.

RAVENSDALE: On a related matter, sir...Gregory wants to know your wishes regarding Rupert Giles. It seems he escaped along with his young associates before they could be properly taken into custody.

ROGER: A pity, that. I respected the man, once. I thought he understood how to follow tradition without being blinded by it. Tell Gregory neither Mr. Giles nor his friends are a priority. If they are found, kill them, but focus on the purge of Los Angeles. (He looks down to study his papers, then abruptly up again.) If the Old One can be captured, keep it for study. I want a reliable means of killing them...just in case.

RAVENSDALE: As you say, sir.

Exit RAVENSDALE, leaving ROGER alone with his papers.

END ACT I


	19. Schism: Tell Me All Your Thoughts on Gog Act II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alas, another script chapter to alter!

ACT II

INT. DEVO LIVING ROOM--NIGHT

This large room of a home has been filled with folding chairs to supplement the couches and armchairs that line the walls. Something on the order of fifty students are gathered here, filling most of the seats. A COLLEGE BOY is sitting in a chair in front of and facing the others, leading a song and indifferently strumming his guitar as accompaniment. DENA and MARSHALL can be seen in the second row of chairs, while SADHA is seated in an armchair at the back wall, looking fairly bored and a bit uncomfortable.

ALL but SADHA (singing): ...Death cannot keep his prey, Jesus my Savior. He tore the bars away, Jesus my Lord. And up from the grave he arose! With a mighty triumph o'er his foes! He arose a victor from the dark domain, and he lives forever with his saints to reign...

An OLDER WOMAN appears from a door at the back of the room, carrying a large cooler full of soft drinks, and places it to the left of the door, opposite SADHA. She removes a can, then sits down in an empty seat beside SADHA. The singing continues but its volume drops from our perspective.

WOMAN: I'm Evelyn. Jason's my son...are you a parent?

SADHA: Teacher. And...cross-cultural student, of a sort. I'm not familiar with your local forms of worship.

EVELYN: Would you like a drink? Or something to snack on?

SADHA: I've...actually, give me a cola, I suppose.

EVELYN hands her one; SADHA opens and tastes it, then grimaces slightly.

EVELYN: Have you accepted Jesus as your savior?

SADHA: I think he may have been a prophet. Have you studied the Guru Granth Sahib?

EVELYN opens her mouth, but can think of nothing to say to that. Another song has begun, and most of the students rise to their feet. A few of them raise their arms and begin swaying; DENA is among this group, her movements surprisingly sensual.

SADHA: I'm not certain whether I believe in all its teachings any more, but many of them are wise.

EVELYN: I...I'm not certain I know what you're talking about.

SADHA: It's all right. I find not many Americans do. The tenth Guru--

EVELYN (getting up nervously): I think I need to see whether the hamburgers are finished. They'll be served in a little while if you want one.

SADHA (mildly annoyed but also amused): I think I'll pass, but thank you.

Exit EVELYN.

DENA abruptly says something unintelligible, but which doesn't appear to be part of the song. Several of the students turn toward her, looking variously puzzled or interested. SADHA leans forward, a look of intense curiosity and concentration suddenly appearing on her face. MARSHALL steps into the aisle and begins motioning for quiet, then gets out of DENA's way, allowing her to step into the aisle as well. The rest of the room grows quiet.

MARSHALL (loudly): I think Dena may have a message for us?

DENA (Gujarati, subtitled): Each of us has a role in our lives planned for us by the Lord. Stepping outside of that role would be to step out of his will. 

Her mouth continues to work for a few moments after that, but if there's more, she seems to have lost the track of it. The students look around, confused, and begin to babble excitedly.

SINGER (loudly): Can we get an interpreter? Anyone know what she said?

FEMALE STUDENT: They speak in tongues here? Seriously?

2ND FEMALE STUDENT: Oh, c'mon, everyone knows that stuff is fake.

MALE STUDENT: No it isn't, but they're supposed to have an interpreter first.

SINGER: Ahem, ahem! Anyone? Yolanda, you get any of that?

As the students continue chattering, the camera focuses in on SADHA, who is still sitting silently in the back of the room; her eyes have closed. ZOOM IN toward SADHA as the screen FADES TO BLACK.

GREY FUZZY FLASHBACK--INDIA, 1801

EXT. MUDDY CITY STREET -- NIGHT

Darkness is falling on this city somewhere in India. Most of the buildings along this street seem to be made of brick or wood. A few stragglers are still hurrying up and down the road, but for the most part everyone has gone.

SADHA and a young GIRL emerge from an alleyway and turn right. SADHA is wearing a traditional dress, fairly subdued in color, and a headcloth that covers her hair completely. She has a metal bracelet on her right arm. The GIRL's long black hair is clean but somewhat straggly, and she seems to be wearing some sort of loose greyish pants and dirty white shirt. She shifts nervously about whenever someone looks in her direction, even SADHA.

SADHA (rubbing a hand against the hilt of the knife tucked into her belt): We need to move quickly, Shefali. Ignore vampires unless I say otherwise. There are sacrifices planned tonight.

SHEFALI (bitterly): It would be better if the British had never come, Sadvi.

SADHA: What makes you say that?

SHEFALI: They give people ideas. There wouldn't be a Rakshasa cult if people were content with their place.

SADHA: We've spoken of this before, Shefali. The lower castes are interested in British ways because the British are largely free to do as they please. They don't constrain their poor to follow caste rules.

SHEFALI: The gods make caste law, teacher. The brahmins only handed it down to us from Lord Vishnu.

SADHA: So they say.

SHEFALI (insistently): Each of us has a role in our lives planned for us by the Lord. Stepping outside of that role would be to step out of his will.

SADHA: Do you know whether the brahmins truly speak for the gods, Shefali? Perhaps they say the things they do to maintain their power. My own teachers taught me that true gods would not separate us in this way. And anyway, where did you learn to question me like this?

SHEFALI (lowering her eyes): I am the Slayer, Sadvi. My role is not the same as my family's. But I am only one girl. I am...a caste of my own, as you have taught me. I will be given a higher birth, next time, but I worry for you.

SADHA: My duty is to teach you, child. That requires me--someone, at least--to violate some of the priests' laws, whether they like it or not.

SHEFALI: We are different. But others should follow the law of their castes, not turn to the Rakshasas. Trusting them is foolish, teacher.

SADHA: I agree with you about...shh!

SADHA pulls SHEFALI into an alley as a pair of roughly-dressed VAMPIRES emerge from a doorway. The VAMPIRES have marked their foreheads with blood, a mockery of a traditional bindhi mark.

SHEFALI (in a vicious whisper): Rakshasa cultists.

SADHA (whispering): Remember not to speak with them. They aren't people, just walking corpses. Don't acknowledge them. Don't feel sorry for them. Plunge and move on.

SHEFALI (whispering): You have been telling me this for months. I understand already.

SHEFALI raises a stake and walks quickly, silently, into the street behind the vampires. When she's a few steps behind, the vampires seem to hear her and turn, snarling.

1ST VAMPIRE: Bah. A little girl. Hardly any meat on her.

2ND VAMPIRE: I find they taste better young, myself.

SHEFALI ignores them, driving a small fist into the first VAMPIRE's midsection. As he doubles over, she spins and kicks out at the second, knocking him to the ground. She fights methodically, silently, and before they have a chance to say anything further, she's stunned the first VAMPIRE with an uppercut and staked him.

2ND VAMPIRE: Slayer. (chuckling) Who'd have thought it? You must have given the priests fits, girl.

SHEFALI lashes out with her feet, kicking him in the kneecaps, then seizes him by the scruff of the neck and drives him into a wall.

2ND VAMPIRE: Why serve them, Slayer? What have they ever done for you?

SHEFALI ignores him, twisting his neck, and stakes him as he begins to slump forward, paralyzed. She spins as if in response to a sound, only to find SADHA standing behind her.

SADHA: Very good. I'm pleased with you. Now we need to move along.

She makes an annoyed noise in her throat as SHEFALI bows briefly, but deeply, to her.

END FLASHBACK

INT. DEVO LIVING ROOM -- NIGHT

The students have apparently settled or given up the argument and returned to their seats. MARSHALL is now in front of the room, speaking. SADHA turns her head and is startled to discover DENA sitting next to her.

MARSHALL: Don't be fooled by people telling you the Russians are good guys now, just because they're not Communists any more. According to prophecy, the nation of Russia is called Gog, and one of the first signs that the end is at hand will be when Russia and its allies throw their whole military at the nation of Israel....

SADHA (quietly): You seem concerned for me. I'm touched.

DENA (quietly): I was thinking it was a good time to stake you. But since we showed up here together, it'd kinda look bad.

SADHA (quietly): Well, at least you have a worthy sense of self-preservation.

DENA (quietly): Nah. You're still here, aren't you?

MARSHALL: I'd like to think everyone here is saved, but my guess is at least a few of you will miss out and have to live through the coming Tribulation. Now we may not know exactly when that's gonna be, but I can tell you right now--I see more signs of demonic violence every day. I think it's close....

SADHA (quietly): Interesting doctrine you have there.

DENA (quietly): It's the truth. I'd think even you would know that. Or maybe especially you.

SADHA (quietly, amused): Then why would you be surprised if I want to "flee from the wrath to come"?

DENA (quietly, a little flustered): I...you just can't. You don't have a choice.

SADHA (quietly): Well. That's a shame. 

MARSHALL: If there's any of you out there who haven't got Jesus in your heart--and I know there are a couple of new faces out there--I want to urge you to accept him, tonight while there's time. There are some people who say there won't be another chance after the Rapture. I'm not sure if that's true or not, but why risk it? Why not ask while you know you have time?

SADHA (quietly): I wonder what you'd do if I were to go forward. What is it you call it? The "altar call"?

DENA (a little louder, scandalized): It wouldn't mean anything. You're a... (She pauses, catching herself) You wouldn't do it, anyway. I don't believe you.

SADHA (quietly, with a shrug): Ah well. You're right, for once. I won't pretend for the mere purpose of shocking you. Still...there are people I might ask to show up here some day. (winking) If there's time, that is.

DENA (quietly): The end of the world's not something to joke about.

SADHA (quietly, amused): And what would you do about it, then?

EXT. STREET -- NIGHT

Apartment buildings line the streets here; some of the cars parked against the curb are rusty or damaged. The street lights flicker, and most of the windows have gone dark.

OZ and REGAN come walking down the broken sidewalk.

REGAN: There are worse parts of town, I guess.

OZ: Yeah. Some places, you'd have already had to beat people up.

REGAN: I don't think I could do that.

OZ: Suddenly I feel a lot less safe walking with a Slayer.

REGAN: I thought you were a werewolf. If you changed--

OZ: You'd have to shoot me with that tranq gun you don't have. I can control the changes. I can't control what I'd do if I changed.

REGAN: But me...I'm supposed to hit things.

OZ: Yeah. If they're dangerous.

REGAN: What if I lost control?

OZ: If you keep bottling it all up inside, you will.

REGAN: What?!

OZ: Slayers get mad too. We all need an outlet.

REGAN: You're telling me I'm supposed to kill? Because I won't. I can't.

OZ: You did earlier tonight. But I'm not saying that. I'm saying everyone gets angry, and you need to be able to express that, without exploding.

REGAN: I helped fight some vampires. I didn't actually dust any. Even if I had, it's not the same. You can't kill things that aren't really alive.

OZ: Still not the point.

Loud rustling sounds emerge from some scraggly bushes planted between the sidewalk and the nearest building.

REGAN: Then--

A slimy yellow DEMON comes flying out of the bushes; when it hits the sidewalk, it bounces once and rolls over. Half its face has been torn off, allowing more slime to bubble out of the wound as it lies motionless.

REGAN: Euwgh.

A second DEMON emerges from the bushes, followed almost immediately by SOLITA, who is largely covered in slime. She leaps on it, screaming with mixed fear and anger, and begins to pound on its chest.

OZ: We could use some salt.

REGAN: Huh?

OZ: Nurgoth demon. Big humanoid slugs, basically. Harder to kill without salt. You want to help her? (He points at SOLITA.)

REGAN: Maybe I should help it?

OZ: Um...no?

Despite her words, REGAN reluctantly begins hurrying toward SOLITA and the DEMON, who is taking a pounding. OZ follows, but as they approach SOLITA looks up, spotting them. She looks back down at herself, leaps up, and runs away through a gap between buildings. The DEMON roars as it gets up, making loud snuffling noises, and launches itself at OZ instead of following.

REGAN begins to follow SOLITA, then hesitates as she sees OZ struggling, and turns back. She grabs hold of the DEMON and begins attempting to peel it off him.

REGAN: Ugh. You must be one of the sewer-dwellers.

The DEMON's head inverts and is suddenly facing the other way; its limbs reverse as well and begin grappling REGAN instead, clawing at her arms.

OZ: Don't let it fillet you.

REGAN: Okay, okay...can I scare it off?

OZ: Sure. Make it think you're gonna kill it.

REGAN: Fine, how do I kill it? Without salt?

She punches it in the face, which collapses inward briefly before returning to its previous shape. REGAN is getting thoroughly coated in slime; OZ is already a mess despite his brief contact.

OZ: Tear its hide open. Its insides will leak out.

REGAN: You mean they haven't already?

OZ fishes in his pockets and brings out a pocketknife, then tosses it to her.

OZ: Nope. Try this.

REGAN: You couldn't do it yourself?

She stabs at the DEMON's face with the knife; when it resists puncturing, she drags the blade along its hide. Slime begins to roll out of the wound; the demon struggles a few more moments before quickly going limp, leaving REGAN and OZ standing over its deflating body.

OZ: Not a Slayer. Was that so hard?

REGAN: Too easy. This count as blood?

She holds up her hands, which are coated in slime. OZ holds up his own hands.

OZ: I didn't kill it, and look at me. (after a moment) We have an idea where she is now. Let's go get this cleaned off. We can come back later.

REGAN: Will she be all right?

OZ (with a shrug): She didn't need a knife.

END OF ACT II


	20. Schism: Tell Me All Your Thoughts on Gog Act III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And another script chapter. This too shall pass.

ACT III

EXT. CAMPUS -- NIGHT

MARSHALL and DENA are walking across a grassy college quad, holding hands, with SADHA following along behind them. At this hour, the campus appears otherwise deserted.

MARSHALL: This teacher of yours seems a little spacey, if you ask me.

DENA (nervously): You know how it is with those new-agey types. Always trancing out.

MARSHALL: That's a bad sign. She could be possessed, you know.

SADHA tries not to laugh at this. A shadowy figure can be seen moving behind her.

DENA: I, uh, I thought she might be at first too. But I haven't been able to cast anything out of her.

MARSHALL: I'd hate to think she's got you fooled.

DENA: Me? Fooled? Yeah, right. Anyway, she's kind of right behind us, remember?

DENA turns back to look as she says this, and at that moment the SLAYER we saw in ROGER's office appears from behind a tree to punch MARSHALL in the face, knocking him out. DENA spins back just in time to block a second blow aimed at her.

DENA: Speak of the devil, huh? (She throws a punch of her own, which is also blocked.) Hands off the boyfriend!

The SLAYER seems to recognize the word "boyfriend"--she rolls her eyes--and begins a fast but methodical sequence of punches and kicks, which DENA evades or blocks with difficulty. She has trouble getting in any blows of her own, given her opponent's speed.

DENA: Not much for the talking, are you? Got a name?

The SLAYER shows no sign that she understands what DENA has said, merely continuing to fight. DENA finally manages to grab her left hand and punch her in the gut.

DENA: Right, didn't think so.

SADHA: She seems to be a Slayer; I recognize some of the combinations she's using.

SADHA appears behind the SLAYER and attempts to grapple her but is shaken off.

SADHA: I believe she's after me, Dena.

The SLAYER shoves SADHA in the chest, tossing her a few yards away, and returns her attention to DENA.

DENA: Yeah. That seems totally reasonable.

SADHA: She thinks you're protecting me.

DENA: Hey! Not protecting the vampire! (She points at SADHA.) Be my guest, stake her!

The SLAYER seizes DENA by the arm and yanks, toppling her off balance, then kicks her in the gut. DENA goes flying into a bench.

SADHA: I don't believe she understands you. Doesn't speak English, perhaps?

DENA (getting up): Convenient. Well, if she's that determined not to fight you, we should double-team her.

DENA begins trading blows with the SLAYER again, not waiting for SADHA's assistance. SADHA shows no sign of joining the fight. DENA looks over to see what she's doing; SADHA's eyes are glazed over.

DENA: Uh-huh. Great.

FUZZY GREY FLASHBACK--INDIA, 1804  
INT. CATACOMBS -- NIGHT

SHEFALI and SADHA are standing on a balcony near the top of some chamber within the earth. On the floor below them, a crowd of ragged cultists is performing a ritual chant, with those around the perimeter engaged in a whirling dance.

SHEFALI: And if the portal opens?

SADHA: The Rakshasa come through and end the world as we know it.

SHEFALI: And we have to stop all those people?

SADHA: The most critical part of the ceremony will be at the focal point, there.

SADHA points toward a doorway at the far end of the room.

SADHA: It will have to be a human, and working alone, whereas several of the worshippers here have become vampires. If you can distract these, I believe I can reach the focus myself.

SHEFALI: And then we escape in the confusion?

SADHA: With a little luck.

SHEFALI: I see. I guess I should get to it?

SHEFALI vaults over the railing, dropping fifteen feet or so into the midst of the chanting cultists, using their bodies to break her fall.

SADHA (exasperated): More caution would be good.

SADHA pulls a hood up and begins dashing down a set of stairs.

INT. LOWER CHAMBER -- NIGHT

SHEFALI's motions as she fights are methodical, even mechanical, but well-practiced and effective. She spins, kicks, punches, and stabs, with vampires falling to dust all around her and human cultists dropping, dead or seriously wounded. She cuts a path toward one of the side doors; among the milling cultists not engaged in the fight a hooded figure can be glimpsed making her way toward the focal point SADHA pointed out earlier. Most of the cultists are not only ragged--they seem skinny and malnourished, only the vampires able to put up much of a fight.

Abruptly a space clears in front of SHEFALI, surprising her enough that she continues fighting, punching twice before she realizes no one is there to connect with. An older man and woman step forward into her path, gesturing at the cultists to stop fighting. SHEFALI's eyes widen in startled dismay.

SHEFALI (shrinking back): Mama? Daddy?

BENOY: Your mother and I are proud of you, Shefali. You've come far.

DAMINI: But you don't understand, sweetness. They've lied to you, and you need to stop believing them.

SHEFALI: Mother, the Rakshasa--

DAMINI: Have offered us what we deserve, Shefali. They're the end of oppression.

BENOY: Come with us, daughter. (He puts out a hand to caress her face, then offers it to hold.) Help us overthrow the high castes. Join your strength to the cause, Shefali.

SHEFALI: No...they'll destroy everything. You're the ones they're lying to. Don't make me... (She halts, mouth open.)

DAMINI and then BENOY vamp out.

BENOY: We have the strength we need, now. We've spent long enough being trampled underfoot. It's our turn to do the trampling.

DAMINI: I understand that you're afraid, daughter. But nothing has changed. Your father and I still love you, and your brother too. We always will, forever. There's nothing to fear.

SHEFALI's expression is cold and hard; only the tears that begin to roll from her eyes show that she feels anything at all.

BENOY crumbles into dust.

DAMINI: No! Sh--

SHEFALI drives the stake into her mother's heart, not even waiting for her to dust as she spins and runs for the focal door, pausing only to shove cultists from her path.

INT. FOCAL CHAMBER -- NIGHT

A small BOY is sitting, chanting, in front of an altar, above which a sullen red portal is slowly expanding. The child is just as thin and underfed as the rest of the cultists have been so far, and probably older than he appears. A robed figure appears in the doorway behind him.

SADHA seizes the boy by the hair, drawing her knife. SHEFALI emerges from the doorway.

SHEFALI: Sadvi, stop! Harsha!

SADHA drags the blade across HARSHA's throat; blood spills out, and he collapses. The portal collapses in on itself and vanishes. SHEFALI drops to her knees, lifting HARSHA, and begins to weep openly.

SADHA: I had no choice, Shefali. The portal--

SHEFALI: He was...my parents...I...my whole family, Sadvi!

SADHA (startled): Your...Never mind that. We have to leave here, Shefali, while we still have a chance.

SHEFALI: Why? Why should I go?

SADHA (sternly): Get up, girl. You will have the chance to mourn them later. I am sorry, but move!

Angry cultists begin to swarm into the room.

END FLASHBACK

EXT. CAMPUS -- NIGHT

MARSHALL is helping SADHA to her feet.

MARSHALL: You've got problems, ma'am. What's the demon chick want with you?

SADHA: Good question. Shame I can't give you an answer.

DENA is still fighting with the UGANDAN SLAYER--it looks as if only a minute or two has passed. DENA turns halfway and high-kicks the other SLAYER in the face, knocking her down.

DENA (half-singing, amused): ...For the Lord is with the righteous, he is their strength and song...

The SLAYER rises up on her hands, then kicks both feet upward, knocking DENA to the ground as well, then flips to her feet. She takes off running, leaping a row of ornamental shrubs. DENA gets up and starts to race after her, then turns back toward MARSHALL, looking between her boyfriend and the vampire.

DENA (coming back toward them): I think she got away.

SADHA (displeased): I'm sure she'll be back.

DENA: Let's get home before that.

MARSHALL: Seems to me like a bad night to be out. I second that idea.

SADHA: Can't hurt, I suppose. Let's get the boy home, at least.

MARSHALL: Er, yeah...the boy wants to go home. Not much of a physical demon fighter.

DENA (putting an arm around his shoulders): C'mon, you.

They walk quickly off into the night, leaving SADHA to follow them again.

SADHA: Hmph.

END ACT III

CODA

GREY FUZZY FLASHBACK

INT. SMALL ROOM -- DAY

The walls of this room are covered with ornamental hangings. SHEFALI is sitting on a tiny wooden bench, staring blankly into space. SADHA is next to her, an arm around the girl, but she's wearing a frustrated frown.

SHEFALI (emotionless): She told me she loved me.

SADHA (impatience growing): It was a ruse, Shefali. They naturally wanted a Slayer's power fighting for their side.

SHEFALI: How do you know? Why couldn't it have been both?

SADHA (frustrated): Expecting a vampire to retain feelings from its true life is a mistake, girl. You've never questioned that before. Vampires are incapable of love. They're demons, nothing more. Your parents were dead well before you encountered them last night.

SHEFALI: But not my brother.

SADHA (hesitating): No. And I am so sorry. I had no choice. It would have been the end of everything, your brother included.

SHEFALI: I should feel something. I'm not a demon.

SADHA: Of course not.

SHEFALI: Why don't I? Why can't I feel?

INT. KITCHEN -- NIGHT

The kitchen of DENA and REGAN's rental house is crammed full of people--DENA and REGAN are making sandwiches for themselves, while OZ eats his. SADHA leans idly in the doorway. REGAN's hair is wrapped in a towel.

REGAN: I thought we just had one extra Slayer to find.

SADHA: I believe we still do. I think the additional girl is working for Wyndham-Price's faction. She's been sent here after me.

DENA: You keep saying that. She attacked me, not you.

SADHA: Some people understand a topic of study known as "strategy"--you might have heard of it some time or other. She was testing you, Dena, but you weren't her objective, or she would have remained to fight you.

OZ: You might want to stay out of the action, Sadha.

SADHA: Is that what you tell your Slayer? I'll be cautious, Oz, but I will adjust. Believe me, I have no desire to depend on Dena for protection.

DENA shoots her Watcher a small, smug grin.

SADHA: Perhaps one day she will learn to trust me. A little, at least.

DENA: If I didn't trust you a little, you'd be circulatin' in the AC by now.

REGAN (looking a bit annoyed): I killed a demon tonight, Dena. I'd think that'd put you in a little better mood, that I'm doing what you like.

DENA (bored): Congratulations. You did your job for once.

OZ: I tried to call Giles about your problem, Sadha. I couldn't reach anyone.

SADHA: Thank you for looking out for me, then. I'd say I'm sure nothing is wrong in Los Angeles, but I believe I know better. This is the way of war, after all. It's entirely possible the vampires have killed them all. We will simply have to hope otherwise.

REGAN: That's optimistic of you.

SADHA (flatly): Yes. I suppose it is.

GREY FUZZY FLASHBACK

INT. SMALL BEDROOM -- DAY

A pair of small feet, dangling in the air.

SADHA, standing in the doorway, looks down and away.

FADE TO BLACK


	21. Be Good, Sweet Maid

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tense-altered for consistency and immediacy  
> .

_The proper motto is not "Be good, sweet maid, and let who can be clever," but "Be good, sweet maid, and don't forget that this involves being as clever as you can."_  
\--C. S. Lewis, _Mere Christianity_

 

"Am I not sufficiently confined?" Illyria growls.

"No," Giles sighs. "No, you're not. Dawn, a little help?"

"Illyria, if your seatbelt isn't fastened," Dawn says from the front seat, "it'll give the police an excuse to hassle us. We're already fugitives. Do you really want humans trying to enforce their laws on you?"

Illyria studies the belt. "This device is unnecessary. I cannot be done any serious injury by your vehicles."

"The law's made with us humans in mind," Dawn confirms. "Do you really want to waste time convincing the police you're not human?" Giles winces...and with a glare, Illyria fastens herself in.

"In my day, such contrivances as this 'mini-van' were unneeded. Space and time--"

"And in my day," Willow cuts in, "we walked ten miles to school in the snow. Uphill both ways. Can you stop boasting for just one minute? It makes you look insecure." To Giles' immense relief, Illyria declines to execute the witch for her slight. Dawn's nervous laughter might be contributing; the Old One shifts uneasily in her seat and stared straight ahead.

Now that that's handled... "There will be people looking for this vehicle," Giles points out. "We might do well to discard it soon."

Willow shakes her head with an ominous frown. "Dawn was casting an Ionia's Glamour when I got in."

"What? Willow, that spell is for concealing _small_ missing objects. The absence of a mini-van--"

"It was really simple," Dawn speaks up. "I'd been reading about it and we needed something that could be done fast."

It is a simple spell, certainly, largely because it lacked an efficient energy-channeling mechanism. Dawn might as well have tried to lift the van with her bare hands instead of a jack. Giles starts to say as much.

"It worked," Willow interjects, glancing nervously across the seat at him. "I could feel it. They won't notice the van is gone till it wears off tomorrow." Between them, Illyria says nothing, but Giles could swear he sees a faint smile on her lips.

"So," Connor says from the driver's seat, "anyone want to tell me where we're going? Because right now we're headed out of town."

"I was thinking Caritas," Dawn responds.

"Caritas is certainly already a target. The defensive enchantments it uses don't appear to affect Slayers," Giles says. "I suppose we should warn Clem. He wasn't able to find anyone who could duplicate the ward against both demonic and human violence, and the Slayer essence is too weak or too unusual to trigger the spell."

"The shelter, then?" Connor suggests.

Willow shakes her head. "They might even go there first. The Slayers know all about Anne. I'm not sure they'll care that she's harmless. Maybe...didn't Angel run things from an office with an apartment before he got hold of the Hyperion? It'd be kinda cramped, but do the other Slayers even know about it?"

"No," Giles says darkly, "but it's occupied. I promised to protect her privacy and not to involve her after she declined my offer to become a Watcher. I don't believe we should impose."

"We're low on options," Connor points out. "Anyway, is there really anyone who isn't involved now?"

"I suspect there are still a few. Nonetheless you have a point. She must be by now, whether she realizes it or not. Turn left at the next intersection." Giles regrets the decision, and suspects he will regret it more before the day is over. "I don't believe Ms. Lockley will be pleased with me, but needs must."  
********  
Vampires aren't supposed to need physical therapy. As far as Anne knows, though, no other vampire has ever survived what she's been through. Angel had confirmed before leaving that Spike had needed to help the nerves in his arms reconnect after he'd had his hands cut off. If only it were so easy as playing video games....

Anne shuffles along the wall, clinging to the railing. The closest she's ever come to the numbness in her limbs wasthe time she'd sat cross-legged for a couple of hours reading _The Vampire Lestat_ ; she had to get up suddenly to answer the phone and fell because her right foot was hanging limply from her ankle. Her legs move, she can grip things between her fingers, but sometimes she feels like a toddler trying to learn how to walk or catch. She stumbles, reaches out to catch herself, and slams a hand through the wall instead of catching the rail; if anything, vampire speed and strength make things worse

If only she could visit a clinic for real therapy...but they'd notice her lack of a heartbeat pretty quickly. _Yeah...being a vampire is really, really cool._ Of course, she isn't out of breath from the effort and there's no risk of needing to hurry to the bathroom, so there are some compensations. With a sigh of relief, she reaches her chair and sinks into it, picking up the thermos of blood in the cupholder she'd had bolted on. It's slowly getting cold, but still tastes wonderful after the exertion. _Maybe I should get an "I survived a decapitation" t-shirt._ That would make people look twice, and no one would actually believe it.

Feet pad faintly on the floor; a whiff of some frilly perfume mixed with a singed odor drifted across the room. Anne looks up. "You've got to help me," Harmony whimpers. "I'm in so much trouble."

Anne swallows hard. There's pretty much only one kind of trouble Harmony would be coming to her for at this point, and nothing she can do about it. "Harmony...who'd you kill?" The other vampire's face and arms are scorched red, and she holds her side as if she were hurt; she's somehow lost her shoes, and her socks are coated in grime.

"Nobody," Harmony wails. "Xander tried to kill me! I didn't do anything, I swear."

"Damn." Anne grits her teeth, feeling her features shift. "I thought Willow got through to him." Of course, Harmony without a soul is a different matter from harmless demons, no matter what she's trying to do...isn't she? Anne is still trying to work that one out herself. Joan had been....

"Maybe she did," Harmony says, struggling to compose herself. "This is really, _really_ important, Anne. You have to believe me, I know it sounds crazy...." Anne waits skeptically while the cheerleader snivels. "Xander's in Buffy's thrall. Maybe...maybe he has been for a long time. I caught them talking on the phone."

Anne tries not to let her jaw drop. "That's when he attacked you?"

"She told him to. He shouted at me, and she must have realized I could hear her. He called her 'mistress'. I know we all thought he was just blaming himself for what happened to her, and Cordelia and Anya, but...maybe that just made him, like...open, you know? He always did have a crush on her."

It hangs together. That doesn't prove Harmony is telling the truth, but Willow always insisted that Xander had changed in the last couple of years--that he'd only hated vampires for the usual reasons, and had kept on loving Anya even when she was a demon again. "I'll call Willow," she decides. "I'll talk to her and explain. Maybe she can shake him loose from it." If he really was under Buffy's control, she's probably been using him as a spy for months at least; no wonder she's been so hard to catch. "Do they know where you are?" Harmony shakes her head; Anne carefully pulls her own cell out of her purse and manages, after one false start, to speed dial Willow's number.

"Yes?" asks an unfamiliar male voice. "May I ask who's calling?"

Anne frowns, thinking for a moment. "I'm trying to reach Willow Rosenberg."

"Just a moment," the voice responds. In the background, a second voice mutters faintly, "Who's looking for Giles' little witch? Check the number." Grimacing, Anne fumbles briefly with the buttons before managing to break off the call.

"Wrong number?" Harmony asks hopefully.

"Someone's got Willow's phone. Someone who doesn't trust her, or probably Giles either. And I might have let them know it was me calling. Do you have any idea what's happening?"

Harmony bites her lip. "There were Slayers chasing me, and...and this Watcher. Expensive dresser, but no style...she was..." She closes her eyes, thinking. "A Miss Soames. She's one of the ones who doesn't like Giles."

"You know her name?" Everyone knows Harmony isn't the brightest bulb in the box.

"Please." The cheerleader rolls her eyes. "She called me a vicious monster to my face, and that was when I had a soul. I should have eaten her anyway. Oh, and she flirts with Kennedy when Willow's not around, but I think she's a big fake. Of course I remembered her. I just had to think about it."

Anne nods, thinking hard herself. "Maybe...she might have used what happened between you and Xander somehow to hurt Mr. Giles. Grab some shoes to wear. I'll see if I can get anyone friendly on the phone. We need to get out of here in case they figured out who was calling from, and we need to know what's going on."

She tries calling Giles first. No answer, but that isn't so unusual. Connor's number reaches the same man, angry now, and Anne hangs up quickly, just as Harmony shows up wearing jeans, a dark red t-shirt, and a pair of old tennis shoes.

She must be staring. "I'm not ruining any more good clothes," Harmony insists defensively. "We have to stick to the sewers, remember?" Holding up a small cooler, she adds, "And snacks. No point finding them if I've eaten somebody, right?"

Anne checks the cooler, confirming that it is, in fact, bags of blood from the emergency stash she kept in the refrigerator. "You're better at preparing than I expected."

"I really don't like roughing it," Harmony says reasonably.

Shrugging, Anne agrees. "I don't think we can get my chair in and out of the sewers, though."

Harmony fidgets about with the cooler, finally placing it in Anne's lap before suddenly scooping her out of the wheelchair with a pained grunt. Just looking at the girl, sometimes you can forget.... "Got your cell phone? I think I can manage."  
********  
"I suppose it was unavoidable," Giles mutters, half to himself, and tries to ignore the face Willow makes. "Harmony was always going to betray us. The only question was how."

"The scorpion," Illyria says, flatly. "It was in her nature."

"You know the fable?" What the Old One remembers--or has since been told--is disturbingly unpredictable.

"It was explained on an episode of Star Trek: Voyager that was watched by the sh...by Winifred Burkle. The captain desired to make an alliance with a cybernetic hive-mind, and her first officer opposed her, citing this tale. As soon as she was unconscious, he betrayed her and the alliance, demonstrating the fable's veracity. None of the humans I have discussed this with agreed with my analysis, however."

Willow blushes faintly for some reason and goesback to the sulking she's been doing for several blocks, since the immediate danger of their escape was past. "What happened exactly, Giles?"

"Evidently Harmony attacked Xander and Kennedy informed the unfortunate Ms. Soames about the incident, giving her a pretext for accusing me of collaborating with evil demons. Which, technically, is sadly true. I'm afraid I did warn you that this was likely to happen. Connor, we need to get into the right lane and prepare to turn."

"So I screwed up."

"In all honesty, I don't think we know that, Willow. We were all lax regarding her, just as we were around Spike from time to time. If anything, we might have been more unprepared if you had restored her soul, given the number of times she's already lost it." He begins to reach across Illyria to pat the redhead on the shoulder, thinks better of it, and gives her a rueful smile instead. "We should all have done some things differently."

"I thought Kennedy trusted you, Giles. Or at least that she trusted me. She could have said something to you instead of selling you out." Willow scrubs at her eyes. "I'm sorry, I...we haven't been doing all that well lately, but...I wasn't expecting this."

Dawn cranes around in her seat. "Will, she wasn't trying to hurt you. We could all see that."

"I know, Dawn," Willow says miserably. "She meant well. That just makes it worse."

"Um, this the place?" Connor calls.

"Yes, I believe so, Connor. Perhaps Kennedy was even right, up to a point," Giles sighs. "It isn't as though my policies have been very effective. I hoped for too much, made too many allowances, and I allowed myself to be distracted by my regrets about Buffy when I should have been concentrating on the problems at hand. This result may have been inevitable."

"Of course it was inevitable," Illyria says dismissively, unbuckling herself hurriedly and climbing over Willow.

"What do you...oof!...mean?" Willow wisely refrains from shoving the Old One's knee out of her stomach.

Escaping the van, Illyria moves quickly away, breathing deeply. She looks around, sighs, and changes, the blue tint fading from her skin and hair. "Betrayal's normal, y'know?" says the simulacrum of Fred. A sweater and jeans replaces her bodysuit. "You're all stressed out cause Harmony betrayed us. But so'd Kennedy and an awful lot of the Watchers. I don't hear y'all asking if it's human nature."

Giles sighs and begins clambering out of the vehicle. It might look and sound like a girl from Texas, but at the core, it is still a demon. "For better or worse, Illyria, Kennedy and the Council both acted out of principle, for what they saw as the greater good."

"Yep, exactly. That's what humans do." Illyria nods vigorously. "So you see my point. A wise ruler's always ready to be betrayed. Doesn't matter who or what he's ruling. Somebody'll find a reason."

Giles shakes his head dismissively and strides up to the door. Quite possibly Illyria will never understand these things. Dawn says something he doesn't quite hear, prompting Illyria to respond, "Of course I'm ready for when you betray me."

A doorbell chimes. "Welcome to--" Ms. Lockley looks up from behind a desk; she still appears very much as she did when they last met two years before. "Mr. Giles. I'm going to assume you've been robbed, because I thought we agreed never to discuss certain things again. Or is your wife cheating on you? Lost a pet?"

Best not to answer that directly. "I need your help, Ms. Lockley. And--"

"Stop right there. I don't take supernatural cases, Mr. Giles. So you can take your little pack of..." She peers at the group filing in behind him. "...Slayers, or whatever they are, and walk back out of my office. Sorry."

"Ms. Lockley--"

Connor pushes past him. "Taken any murder cases lately, Ms. Lockley? Robberies? Seen a lot of 'drug-related gang violence'? My father told me he thought you understood by now just how much of that's supernatural. And it's only gonna get worse."

"Your father?"

"Angel. Remember him?"

"I remember him." Kate scowls, glancing at the window. "If you're his son, where's your blanket? Looks pretty sunny out there. And how old are you really? Two hundred and sixteen?"

"You want that in Earth years? Something like five." Connor slams his hands down on the desk. "You can't hide from this stuff, detective. Son of two vampires, raised in hell." He points at Dawn. "My girlfriend? Ball of mystical energy. Willow's a witch, and the skinny Texan girl there is Illyria, 'god-king of the primordium'. Look pretty normal, don't we? I bet we're not the first supernatural clients to walk through your door."

"Did your father tell you he cost me my career?" the detective asks, her eyes flaring. "I tried dealing with things like this, and all it got me was kicked off the force. It took me nearly two years to get used to the idea that they weren't going to take me back and get on with my life. You asked if I take murder cases? I take petty theft cases. I follow cheating husbands. That's what I do now."

"Angel didn't wreck your career," Willow says, calmly. "People acting like you are now did that. You know why the law doesn't handle things like this? Not because it can't. Because it chooses not to learn how."

"Humans," Illyria intones, still cloaked in Fred's form, "see only what they desire to see." Kate stares at her assessingly, eyes just a little too wide.

"If you're dissatisfied with your life," Giles says, "we're offering you the chance to change that. We need to gather information, and we need a place to stay where we won't be looked for. Once this is over--if it ever is--you can return to following cheating spouses, if that's really what you'd rather do."

Kate is silent for a few moments. "You can bed down in the office tonight. _One_ night; I need this space. I'll see what I can do about finding somewhere a little more permanent. And then you tell me what's going on."

Giles nods. "That's all we ask."  
********  
"Reception down here sucks," Harmony notes. "You'd think it'd be just like inside."

"There are a lot of cables under the streets," Anne says with a grimace. "And a lot of mystical creatures down here too." They've found what seems to have been a vampire nest--cots that, from the scent, hadn't been slept in in months, and not much else. Harmony keeps rubbing at her side as she sits down on one of them. "You didn't tell me when we started you had broken ribs."

"You're really not that heavy."

"No, I mean...why bother? I don't think I would have, in your place."

Harmony shrugs, then winces in pain again. "I need you. You can't walk far. I don't want to die, that's all."

Anne considers that. "I guess Joan might have done that. There's nowhere safe any more, not really."

"Joan?" Harmony opens the cooler and pulls out a baggie.

"When I was younger," Anne explains, "I thought vampires were like you read about in an Anne Rice novel. Or maybe Poppy Brite. Die young, stay pretty, you know? I kept taking stupid names that had to do with whatever cult I was latched onto at the moment. When I was into vampires, I called myself Chanterelle. But Joan's my birth name."

"Hey, this stuff's human!" Harmony stares accusingly at her. "I can't get away with drinking human blood."

"From a blood drive," Anne says. "It's got more kick to it. You'll heal faster. Go ahead, it's paid for." She half-expects the other vampire to keep objecting, but Harmony just begins drinking it down. Of course. No guilt, only fear.

"So when you were human, you were Joan?" Harmony asks after a moment, licking away a blood mustache.

"No. Well, yes, but...." Anne makes a fist, then tries to open it one finger at a time. The last three still don't want to move separately. "When I didn't have a soul, I was Joan. It was...her way of showing contempt for who I used to be. She didn't need to pretend to be someone else. I guess it was a good thing she turned out to be more of a coward than she thought."

"No way! You're not a coward."

"I'm not a coward because I care about other people more than myself, Harm." She reaches into the cooler. "Inside, I'm scared to death. As soon as I heard Buffy was on a rampage, I started hunting for a way out."

"So being a coward is good?" Harmony squinches up her brows. "I never thought of it like that."

"I guess it can be, sometimes," Anne laughs. "But you're not a coward. I don't fight much because there are other important things that need doing--the world would be a pretty messed-up place with nothing but wall-to-wall 'champions'--but it takes guts to do what you do, Harm."

"I just thought fighting demons was what a vampire with a soul was supposed to do. It's what Angel and Spike did."

Well, that explains a lot. "Maybe. You could do a lot worse than imitating them, though. There are plenty of us who curl up and die once they have a soul, in case you haven't noticed."

"Noticed. More blood?" Harmony holds out a baggie.

"Ate just before we left, but thanks." She pulls out her cell phone and studies it. "We've got two bars in here."

"We didn't try Dawn before we left," Harm points out.

"Then here goes." Anne tries to cross her fingers, but they refuse to make the proper motions. Harmony offers a half-smile and crosses her own.  
********  
By the time Giles finishes explaining it has grown dark outside. Kate's secretary and an older, balding ex-cop are marking out sites of probable vampire battles with Willow on a computerized map. Dawn, Connor, and, for a wonder, Illyria are calling Slayers and Watchers they have reason to believe were loyal to him and still in town.

"Let me get this straight," Ms. Lockley says incredulously. "Buffy's been killing demons since she was fifteen. Her mother died, her father disappeared off into Europe somewhere, and she was left to raise her sister, who's really a mystical energy force, by herself. She's killed her boyfriend, after which she ran away from home. She's had to try to kill several other friends, and nearly had to let her sister die to save the world. She's been to hell and back. She's been to heaven and back. She's returned from the dead three times. Her mind's been tampered with more than once. She's been depressed, delusional, and even catatonic. She's been institutionalized once--"

"Unfairly," Giles points out.

"No, that's my point. When you're actually sane, an institution can make your problems worse. Last of all, she's become the very thing she hates and was called to fight. And you think she's behaving this way just because she's a vampire now? Do Watchers not understand words like 'post-traumatic stress disorder'?"

"Angel gave me the impression that--"

"I don't like the idea of cops who are basically sound of mind having to deal with a psychiatrist over every single violent incident. It's excessive. People are more resilient than that. But a girl who's been through all this...I'm surprised she lasted a year without killing herself."

"Slayers have before," Giles admits. "Others have...committed suicide-by-vampire, one might say."

"So of course Slayers get the best therapy money can buy, being both vulnerable girls and very valuable assets."

Giles grinds his teeth. "Since the time such things became understood, society has also become much less accepting of the supernatural. A girl who went to a conventional therapist and discussed fighting vampires would, as we've already brought up, be inappropriately institutionalized. Watchers are expected to counsel their own Slayers."

"Well, you've certainly worked wonders with Buffy." Giles leans forward, prepared to give her a piece of his mind, and she holds up a hand. "No, I mean that seriously. You never mentioned any training of that sort as part of the Watcher package, so I can only assume you're a natural, or she wouldn't have lasted as long as she did. I just want to know, are you sure this isn't really because Slayers are considered expendable? One dies, another's called, no harm done?"

"Honestly," he says, "I'm certain it _is_. I've been doing my best to change that; the difficulty is in finding qualified individuals. The fact remains that a vampire is not going to be cured by therapy. Buffy lacks a soul; that much is innate, and we haven't been able to restore it. It's possible that if we could treat her, she'd become all the more dangerous."

"I wonder. No, I don't doubt you, exactly." Kate closes the notebook she's been writing in. "I've seen enough to believe you're right, a normal vampire is deadly dangerous. I just have to ask myself what 'normal' means in this context. You said Buffy's proven that hope is a luxury you don't have. I don't think you can infer anything from her."

"Anne!" Dawn pops up from her seat and hurries over to the desk. "Giles, Anne just called in. She's on the run."

"In her condition?" Giles asks. Kate looks confused. "It's possible you met her, Ms. Lockley, but it would have been some time ago, and she's a vampire herself now. Buffy tortured her nearly to death."

Dawn has begun to bounce up and down on her heels. "Giles, she's not by herself. She's with Harmony."

"Let me see that." Giles very nearly yanks the phone from her hand. "Rupert Giles speaking. Anne, what in heaven's name are you doing?"

"Mr. Giles," Anne says tinnily, "Harmony didn't attack Xander. He attacked her. He's under Buffy's thrall. Where are you? We need to talk."

"Dear lord." What else is going to go wrong? "Yes, we certainly do."  
********  
"Harm," Anne insists, "we have to stop." They've emerged from the sewers as the sun set, both of them about equally relieved to be out. They're far from the only things to make the transition, though.

Harmony keeps running. "We spent a couple of hours going the wrong way. That means we have to take the long way around the hotel, and if we're too slow we'll still run into Slayers on patrol. I don't want to die."

A sense of self-preservation can only go so far. Anne bites her on the arm, producing an outraged shriek as Harm lets her topple to the ground. "Turn around and go back. We have to help that guy."

"How do you even know he's one of the good guys?" Harmony complains, recalcitrant. "The way things are going, maybe the slime demon's just defending himself." Ostentatiously, she examines her wounded arm, ignoring Anne's pointed looks.

Anne reaches out to the wall and digs her fingers in, clawing herself to her feet brick by brick. "Fine. Go on without me. I'll do what I can. You can explain to Giles what happened to me and why you didn't help."

She's nearly upright when the cheerleader wraps an arm around her legs and scoops her up once more. "They'll hate me, won't they." Harmony turns, reluctantly, and begins to sprint back down the street. "I'm tired of the way they look at me. I miss being popular."

It's another thread to pull. "I won't tell them I had to talk you into it," Anne says. "You'll get the credit." Two blocks back, the demon is slavering over its prey at the end of an alley, its putrid scent so distinct that even humans should notice something wrong. Harm clearly isn't the only one who can't be bothered to care--or, more charitably, is too afraid to help.

Harmony sets her down leaning against the wall, picks up a trash can lid, and hurls it at the creature. As far as Anne can tell, the roar it produces is wordless, though that doesn't necessarily mean anything. Turning from its victim, the demon tosses the lid aside and charges.

"It won't matter," Harm complains, kicking the monster in the kneecap. "I'm the screwup who keeps losing her soul." Fist to the jaw, or where the jaw might be under all that slime. "I'm the stupid cheerleader who can't even be evil right." Blocking a slow, shambling punch. "I could kill a thousand demons...save a whole city full of humans..." Slamming the slime demon into a dumpster, where Anne managed to whack it with a scavenged pipe herself. "...but they're never gonna see me as a person." With the demon reeling, leaning halfway into the dumpster, Harmony brings the lid down hard, severing its head. The creature collapses and begins melting into a puddle.

"Faith does," Anne states simply. "I think maybe Dawn does too." She offers a rag from the alley floor, grimy but cleaner than Harm's slimy hands; the cheerleader wipes them off fastidiously and tosses it aside, then turns to crouch over the man who'd been attacked.

"He's okay," Harmony grumbles. Anne's ears pick up whispered prayers and pleas. "At least we weren't wasting our time." The man opens his eyes to Harm's game face; streaked with tears though it was, he shudders violently and scrambles to his feet, darting out of the alley. "Didn't your parents ever teach you to say thank you?"

"You scared him," Anne says gently. Harmony's whining grates on her nerves, but even so, she does have a point.

"Do you?" Harmony asks, lifting her again. For a moment, the question leaves Anne baffled. But only for a moment.

"Look at you as a person?" _You're no one,_ snarls one memory, and a harsh whisper of another echoes it back. "I think I do," Anne says slowly. "Maybe I shouldn't, but I do."

Anne isn't much of a philosopher; she's too busy with the day-to-day work of helping people stay alive. So it's possible she's wrong; maybe without a soul Harmony really is just an animated corpse, parroting words with nothing behind them. That isn't what the absent smile on the girl's face says, though, or her own memories of that state. Harmony wants to belong. It isn't remorse. It isn't love. But it's something more than fear. And even fear is something real.  
********  
"She had to talk me into it," Harmony admits to Giles. Maybe being honest will help. She rubs her sore ribs, all but one of which seems to be mostly healed. "I was afraid."

Giles doesn't answer, only looks at her. The tough-looking detective lady, Kate, doesn't say anything either, but then she smells more nervous than angry. That's normal for humans who don't know what a stupid weakling Harm is. Anne looks up in surprise, but is quiet too.

"You were hurt," Connor says finally. "And you didn't know the Slayers weren't coming. You had a right to be afraid."

"Why _aren't_ the Slayers out patrolling?" Anne asks.

Illyria speaks up immediately. "They are making plans, obviously." She went back to being blue not long after Harmony' arrived. Harm is glad; being around a Fred who isn't Fred is creepy, though she doesn't think that was why the demoness did it. "They wish to lure as much of their prey as possible into the open. They will then have a clear spatial representation of its whereabouts." Kate may be nervous around Harmony, but she jumps a tiny bit every time Illyria speaks. The other humans don't seem to notice.

"But they don't need that to patrol," Dawn says. "Buffy never did anything like that. Besides, what about all the people who'll get hurt while they're off duty?"

"They're after something bigger than that," Willow says, her hands twitching like they were hunting something to do. To Harmony she smells afraid and angry and sad all at the same time, which doesn't make a lot of sense. The demons are in a lot more danger than she was. "Once they know where their targets are, they can start rounding them up."

"You mean like the Initiative?" Dawn asks. Harmony hugs herself and shivers; the Initiative was bad news. Willow hesitates a moment, then simply nods.

"I don't see the problem," Joe says, drawing a heated glare from Willow and an icy one from Illyria. He's a balding ex-cop; Harmony thinks he must do most of Kate's legwork, though he doesn't really look tough enough for that.

"Not all demons are dangerous or evil," Giles explains impatiently. "Some are unintelligent predators, and some are consciously malicious. But many others are simply trying to live their lives, and at least a small percentage are champions of good. Roger's faction have demonstrated repeatedly that they aren't concerned with such distinctions." For no reason Harmony understands he removeshis glasses and begins cleaning them on his shirt. They don't look spotty to her. "Only humans matter to them."

"They don't seem to care much about humans caught in the crossfire, either," Connor adds. "Or they wouldn't try something like this. The big picture's important, yeah, but not that important."

"So why are you guys all here?" Lenny asks. Harmony tries not to snicker; she has trouble thinking of the skinny college boy with the glasses as a _secretary_ , but he's Kate's. "Shouldn't you be out patrolling or whatever?"

"Faith, Rona, Misty, and Maria are indeed out patrolling now," says Giles. "They're not much, but it's still early. They're also more than most large cities have; except for our training hubs, such as the Hyperion, Slayers are spread quite thin. Once this meeting is over, those of us who have the ability will join them."

"So what's all this got to do with Xander?" Dawn asks, fiddling nervously with the papers in her lap. "Why would Buffy want him to stay? Or is he doing it on his own?"

"Well, duh!" Most of the room turn to look at Harmony, making her jump. Lots of people watching her used to be fun; she pretends that what she's saying is a cheer and pushes on. "Buffy wants the same thing they want. Except maybe for herself."

"Maybe for herself too," Kate suggests. "It fits together. She's using him to keep tabs on them the way she did you, and maybe to push them in the directions she wants."

"In theory," Willow says, "Buffy shouldn't be able to enthrall him over the phone. Maybe she's got even more power than I think, but my guess is she did it in person and the phone is just to pass on orders. She won't be able to meet with him now even if she comes back to town, so eventually it should wear off. Once that happens I hope he'll come to us."

"I'm not certain we should wait for that," says Giles. "We don't know what he might pass on to them. They don't know he's a double agent, either, and if they should find out they're unlikely to offer him benefit of the doubt. It might be wise to send a rescue team. Willow, you and...perhaps Dawn," he finishes uneasily.

Harmony frownes. Why would Dawn go? "Wouldn't it be a better idea to just send Illyria?" She can wade right through the Slayers, and it's so totally obvious she has the hots for Xander, so she won't let him get hurt.

Giles shakes his head. "At the moment I'm even more uncertain than usual of Illyria's--" He breaks off and looks around the office.

Illyria is already gone.  
********  
"Kill her," Buffy hisses into his ear. "Kill her now." Xander raises the stake and pivots, driving at the vampire's heart. "She deserves it. They all deserve it. No mercy." 

_They cried, "La belle dame sans merci--"_

The vampire with Buffy's face makes no move to defend itself. Crumbles into dust.Why didn't it resist?

"Please," says the skinny girl with the muddy-grey face. She's-- "Please." Demon. Kill her... "Please."

"Thank you, Xander." The ghost of a whisper in his ears. "I need you. You have to help me. Be ready."

Jesse leaps forward, but the stake is in Xander's hand, ready. The vampire...

"Please."

Jesse leaps forward, stake in hand. Xander feels it pierce his heart...

_La belle dame sans merci hath thee--_

...crumbling...

"Kill them, Xander. Help me kill them. It has to be done."

"Please..."

"Xander..." Buffy takes him by the shoulder. Her hand is cold. Begins to shake him.

"Xander Harris." His eyes open slowly. Jaylynne looms over him, one large warm hand on his shoulder. "Xander, there's that late meetin'. You went ta sleep."

"Right." Xander sits up carefully. A few twinges of pain, still. After being racked by a vampire, he'll be lucky if he can still have kids. "Meeting."

"Where ta start," Jaylynne says, grimly, eagerly. "Where ta start the purge."


	22. Haven: In Depth Act I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Needs converting to prose. Please stand by.

TEASER

INT. APARTMENT--DAY

We open on a small apartment bedroom; the window shades are pulled shut. A narrow, unmade bed and a small table are visible in the gloom. ANGEL is sitting on the bed, frowning at a book.

BUFFY (off-screen): I'm not in there, you know.

ANGEL looks up to see BUFFY standing in the bathroom doorway, wearing a tank-top and shorts and leaning casually against the wall.

ANGEL (dumbfounded): I...no, this is wrong. You can't be here.

BUFFY steps closer to him, a pitying look on her face, and takes the book, setting it aside.

BUFFY: Why not? Why can't I?

ANGEL: You're...you're not real. You can't be. I'm dreaming.

BUFFY (resting a hand on his shoulder): You won, Angel. The fight's over. If you can't be happy in your dreams, when can you be happy?

ANGEL (pulling away; quietly): I failed you. I don't deserve this. Please, just go.

The scene wavers as if a dream scene were about to end, then steadies.

BUFFY (shaking her head in disappointment): I hope you're not waiting on me to forgive you, Angel. You know I don't do that. I'm the Slayer. It's not my place to forgive.

ANGEL (confused): You're not...not any more...I...

BUFFY leans down to kiss him softly on the cheek.

BUFFY: I will see you again, Angel. In a realm of eternal light. Nothing's over, not yet.

She steps away from the bed and reaches for the windowshade. ANGEL lunges forward, trying to stop her, but she's out of his reach. Daylight spills into the room, and BUFFY smiles beatifically as she bursts into flame. ANGEL grabs frantically at the shade again...

And bolts upright in bed, clutching at the sheets. Sunlight shines harmlessly in on him through the half-open shade.

CUT TO  
INT. BRITTANY'S APARTMENT--DAY

ANGEL is sitting on BRITTANY's couch; she's turned her desk chair backwards to face him. She's holding a mug of coffee and looking bleary-eyed.

BRITTANY: And you think she was actually in your dreams?

ANGEL: I'm her grandsire. Wouldn't be the first time. Normally it only happens when they're in town, but this is Buffy. She's a few steps up from normal. I can't take it for granted that she's around. Or that she's not, either.

BRITTANY (skeptical): Angel...think this through. You're human now. If there were any demon left in you, I could tell.

ANGEL: Darla could still sense me when she was human. She could get into my dreams, too. Don't ask me to explain the connection, but it was real, and it could still be there.

BRITTANY (thoughtfully): So...any vampire in your line? Drusilla, Spike, the Master, any of them?

ANGEL (shaking his head): Within a generation or two, and usually it only works from the sire's end. Dru was able to shut me out, which was probably for the best. As for Spike....(He hesitates.)

BRITTANY (waits expectantly for a moment, then...): Well?

ANGEL: Every now and then. There was this one time....Um, you really don't want to know about that.

BRITTANY (tapping her fingers nervously on the mug): Maybe I should ask Aunt Lilah about it next time she drops by. She was in on Wolfram & Hart's plan with Darla, so she must know something about how the connection works.

ANGEL (with a harsh sigh): Brittany, I know she's your aunt, but that doesn't mean you can trust her. I don't think Lilah ever knew anyone she didn't manipulate.

BRITTANY (lightly): You're not wrong. The difference is, I know her. I know what she wants, and she knows I know. We get along that way. I'm a little surprised the Senior Partners don't understand.

ANGEL: Understand what?

BRITTANY: Aunt Lilah never did anything unless it benefitted her somehow. Now that they have her in hell, she's got nothing left to gain working for them, and not much to lose. Of _course_ she's willing to betray them.

ANGEL (considers this a moment): Okay, that I believe. Just...don't take anything she says at face value.

BRITTANY (laughing, she takes a sip of coffee): Please. We're lawyers. (more seriously) Angel, I'm surprised you're comfortable with the idea that you could still be linked this way. I would think, now that you're human, that there shouldn't be any part of that existence left except the memories. It doesn't bother you?

ANGEL: Of course it bothers me. By this point I'm used to being bothered. (thoughtfully) The moment I was cured, Angelus ceased to exist. Like a light going out. He's gone. There's no other way it could work. So no matter what's going on with Buffy, I've got nothing to worry about from him.

BRITTANY (shrugging and standing up): You're the expert.

THEME PLAYS, CREDITS ROLL

Theme: "Savin' Me" (second verse), by Nickelback

Starring:  
Tom Lenk as Andrew Wells  
Jenna Edwards as November Hall  
Rachel Billings as Brittany Morgan  
Alona Tal as Michelle Foust  
Percy Daggs III as Gabriel Keller  
and David Boreanaz as Angel

Guest-starring:  
Stephanie Romanov as Lilah Morgan  
Sarah Michelle Gellar as Buffy Summers  
Jared Padalecki as Phil

ACT I  
INT. ANDREW'S APARTMENT--DAY

This is a large, airy room, painted largely in shades of white that make it appear even brighter and more open than it is. Though sparsely furnished, it does have a large sofa and the empty cabinet of an entertainment center on opposite sides. Thumping noises emanate from somewhere outside before NOVEMBER appears in the doorway holding one end of a mattress. Her hair is loose and straggly.

PHIL (off-screen): Aren't there more important things you're supposed to be doing?

PHIL comes through the doorway with the other end of the mattress, a dark-haired young man wearing jeans and a sleeveless t-shirt.

NOVEMBER: Not so much when it's daylight. Not many vampires out there right now.

ANDREW enters last, sweating and breathing heavily under the burden of a moderate-sized television, which he places cautiously on the cabinet shelf before wiping his brow. NOVEMBER and PHIL pass through another door and off-screen.

PHIL (off-screen): But I thought Andrew said there were other demons that can go out in the sun.

ANDREW: Yup. It's still easier for them to attack when it's dark, though. Only the really nasty ones bother people in the daytime. It attracts attention.

NOVEMBER (off-screen): If something like that happens Angel will call, and I'll have to leave you two to finish on your own.

ANDREW theatrically pulls out his cell phone and pretends to shut it off as PHIL and NOVEMBER re-enter the room. then staggers over to the couch and collapses as if exhausted.

ANDREW (as if out of breath): No calls!

PHIL: You'd think he didn't want to be alone with me.

ANDREW: When we're done moving in, Phil. Not before!

PHIL (shrugging): We can always take a break. We've got a mattress and a couch, after all.

NOVEMBER: How come you guys get a better apartment than me?

PHIL (raising his hand): I'm paying.

ANDREW (dramatically): You might call him...my agent.

PHIL: I help file his patents and market them to manufacturing companies. The ones that don't have an open market, like those vampire mirror-cameras, we sell on eBay.

ANDREW: The volume was low enough I could make them myself.

NOVEMBER: Huh. They must have cost a lot to buy.

PHIL: Ever tried putting on makeup without a mirror? Seen guys shave without one?

ANDREW: I wanted to bring our customers in on the loop until the market fell through.

NOVEMBER (frowning and fiddling with her hair): Huh?

PHIL: Apparently it's hard to get a decent job when you're undead. Andrew thought we might be able to start integrating the ones with souls into society better. (smiling warmly and putting an arm around ANDREW's shoulder) He's a genius, you know.

ANDREW (theatrically, raising and spreading his hands): An evil genius! Muah-haha!

NOVEMBER (checking her watch): Hey...you gonna hook that TV up? _Stargate_ is about to come on.

ANDREW jumps as if startled and runs over to start working on the television.

ANDREW: Vala Mal Doran! How could I forget Vala?

PHIL coughs and shifts his eyes back and forth uncomfortably. NOVEMBER offers him a shrug as she walks past him toward the couch.

NOVEMBER (sympathetically, under her breath): For what it's worth, yesterday before you got here, he was muttering about missing Captain Archer.

PHIL (quietly): Yeah, well...apparently I have a lot of competition.

NOVEMBER (carelessly loud): _qay' noywI'pu' jay'._ (subtitled: Celebrities are a hassle.)

ANDREW (looking back at her): _bIlughqu'!_ (subtitled: They sure are!)

PHIL looks back and forth between them, confused and a little worried. As the TV comes on, ANDREW hurries back to the couch, pulling PHIL along in his excitement. PHIL is still shifting about nervously as we

CUT TO  
INT. WAREHOUSE--DAY

Months or years ago, this huge room was abandoned. Here and there are stacks of crates, probably empty. At the far end is a large loading bay door flanked by two smaller personnel doors. It is abandoned no longer; sleeping pallets and bundles of belongings are scattered all around. In the center, there are dozens of people sitting in a circle around one man speaking as he slowly walks to face each of them in turn. He is wearing a white buttoned shirt and khaki slacks, as well as glasses, and has the sound of an experienced lecturer.

SPEAKING VAMPIRE: ...There are two things that all vampires want, which are intrinsically in tension. On the one hand, we want to live.

There is a rustling as several members of the audience whisper and move around.

SPEAKER: Now, I don't want to quibble at this point about what exactly it is we're doing right now. We move around, we think, we learn, we eat, in a sense we even reproduce. All of those are qualities of life and we want them to continue. For some of us there may be the goal of becoming biologically alive, of becoming human, but even those of us who hate that idea want to continue our existence, which has no clear deterministic end-point and is most likely potentially eternal. On the other hand...

MICHELLE (interrupting): Yada yada yada. I thought there was some kind of mother ship coming for us?

The camera focuses in on MICHELLE and GABRIEL, with the latter attempting to shush her.

SPEAKER (tiredly): There is no mother ship, and we will be consuming neither kool-aid nor pudding. May I continue, please?

MICHELLE (angry): Why? What's the point? What are we even doing here? Doesn't anyone want--

The SPEAKER vamps out, interrupting her in turn; in his dry, academic way he's angry too.

SPEAKER: To hunt? To fight? To kill? Yes, we do, and thank you for demonstrating my second point, _young lady_.

MICHELLE stands up, and GABRIEL gets up as well, still motioning for her to be quiet and sit down.

MICHELLE: Well, then, why aren't--?

The SPEAKER is suddenly there in front of her; he seizes her by the throat and lifts. She claws at his arm, unable to do any serious damage.

SPEAKER: I am furious with this girl, who appears in my judgement to be a fledgling and probably knows no better than to interrupt her elders. She's furious with me, too. She'd probably like nothing better than to take over this gathering and lead you in some sort of violent activity, and I'm in her way.

GABRIEL: Look--hey--can you just put her down, please? She's not strong enough to--I can keep her under control!

GABRIEL attempts to pry the SPEAKER's hands off MICHELLE; the SPEAKER gives him an irritated look, squeezes once, and releases her. She doesn't sit down, but growls at him deep in her throat.

SPEAKER: I could kill her fairly easily; she seems especially weak. But any of us can die, if you want to call it that. And it's precisely the violence we want to do that puts us in danger. We moderate that violence with our rationality and our will to survive. It never seems to be enough, though, does it? We kill each other. We kill humans, and sometimes other demons, drawing their ill-will down upon us, and they hunt us in return. But until recently, at least there was a balance. If that balance is not somehow restored, every...last...one of us will die. (to MICHELLE) Do you want to die?

MICHELLE (reluctantly): No. But what's the point of--?

SPEAKER: _Sit down_ and let me explain.

MICHELLE slowly sits down, followed by GABRIEL.

SPEAKER: If that little display didn't convince you, let me assure you--we have no hope of ever becoming part of this world's dominant human society. There is no place for us here, and never will be. But there are other worlds than this one. I can see that some of you are skeptical; call them what you will--heavens and hells, other planes of existence, different dimensional branes. It doesn't matter. They exist, and there is room for us there.

GABRIEL (seeing that MICHELLE is about to speak again): Why haven't we left yet?

SPEAKER: Not all of those worlds are hospitable to us. Some would kill us in an instant by their nature. Others are inhabited by beings still more hostile. Many of them also contain nothing we can consume. However, we have recently been contacted by those willing to take us in. It will not be a comfortable existence, as their world is primitive compared to ours, but on the other hand they believe we will be able to sublimate our violent urges in the struggle for survival. They also cannot accomodate us all at once; there are limitations both social and physical to their abilities.

MICHELLE (smugly): So there _is_ a mother ship.

SPEAKER (exasperated): No, there i-- Not in the sense you're talking about.

MICHELLE (to GABRIEL): I told you this whole trip was a waste of time.

GABRIEL: Just hear him out already. Haven't you seen enough yet to at least consider the possibility? If it's not true, we'll find out soon enough.

FEMALE ONLOOKER: Why would they want us?

SPEAKER: From what I understand, their world is something of a shambles. Their society has recently fallen apart and they are struggling to rebuild. For that they need labor and are willing to repay us generously--in their rich natural resources as well as in honor and gratitude.

GABRIEL: If we don't like it, we can leave, right?

SPEAKER: I don't see why not. So far, I'm not aware that anyone has, but keep in mind what--or who, I should say--we face here. Almost anything is a bargain, comparatively speaking, and we're being offered material goods, an honored place in society, and personal challenge. If your lady friend would rather take her chances...(He shrugs.) We don't keep anyone here against their will, either. Whatever she thinks, this is not a cult.

MICHELLE: If it were, that's exactly what you'd say.

SPEAKER: Most likely. All I can say is, judge for yourself. As for me, I could use some rest.

The SPEAKER stalks out of the circle, which parts for him and begins to disperse. GABRIEL and MICHELLE head for a corner of the room, where they've made pallets at a distance from the others.

GABRIEL: I don't blame you for being skeptical. It's a lot to take in, and you're asking some of the right questions.

MICHELLE: And here I figured you'd been taken in.

GABRIEL: A lot's happened while you were sleeping, hon. People are looking for new answers, new ways of doing things, because the old ones don't work any more. It's the sort of situation I'd expect you to take to.

MICHELLE: Maybe. I trust you, Gabriel, up to a point. But we're not sheep, and I won't act like one. Are we clear on that?

GABRIEL: It's what I love you for.

FADE TO BLACK

END OF ACT I


	23. Haven: In Depth Act II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To be remastered in prose, soon.

ACT II

INT. BRITTANY'S APARTMENT--DAY

The dull rays of the setting sun barely light the apartment, at first. Then a door opens onto the gloom, bright fluorescent bulbs come on, and BRITTANY and ANGEL walk into the room carrying groceries.

BRITTANY: You realize there's no need to help me with those, right?

ANGEL: Of course. But it's the second time I've ever shopped for groceries. I had a good time.

BRITTANY (laughing): That would explain why you kept picking out the most expensive food in the store.

ANGEL: Yeah, probably. Keep in mind, most of it I've never eaten. They didn't have grocery stores in the 1700s.

BRITTANY (heading into the kitchen): I'd say experiment on your own tab, but--

She turns on the light to discover LILAH standing in front of the refrigerator.

LILAH: Wondered when you two were going to get back. I don't need to tell you not to get too close to him, do I, Britt?

BRITTANY: I'm not even attracted, so you have nothing to worry about. Excuse me.

BRITTANY pushes past LILAH to open the fridge; LILAH moves into the doorway, watching ANGEL.

LILAH: I was. Managed to get bitten for my troubles.

ANGEL: You know that wasn't me.

He begins setting groceries down on the couch; BRITTANY is putting hers away.

LILAH: It never is, is it? I'm just saying, I find it hard to believe she's not attracted to you.

ANGEL: That was an old man in my body. What are you doing here?

LILAH: Sent to talk to my niece. What else?

ANGEL: And the Wolf, Ram, and Hart don't know I'm here?

LILAH: Sorry to bruise your immense ego, but they really don't care. In case you've forgotten, you don't matter any more. Prophecy's fulfilled, all bets are off.

BRITTANY (pushing past LILAH again): So there's a prophecy about me now?

She begins gathering up the bags on the couch and returns to the kitchen with them.

LILAH: Nothing I know of. Just the usual apocalypse, and you're a Slayer.

ANGEL: But I stopped--

LILAH: No, you "played a pivotal role". There was nothing in there about you _stopping_ anything. Heroes fight, heroes die, and the apocalypse rolls right on. No one cares if you're corrupted now. You're last week's news.

ANGEL: If I didn't accomplish anything, how was it a pivotal role?

LILAH (shaking her head): Do you ever stop reading things into what I say, Angel? Figure it out for yourself.

BRITTANY: You wanted me to ask her about Darla, Angel. Ask away. I've got nothing to say to her.

LILAH raises an eyebrow and tilts her head.

ANGEL: I've been dreaming about Buffy. I was wondering if we're still connected somehow, the way Darla and I were.

LILAH: Angel, Angel, Angel (shaking her head)...I'm a lawyer, not a metaphysician. You and your Slayer were in love once. That's all I know. I wasn't even in charge. Darla was Lindsey's project. If you're dreaming about Buffy...maybe you miss her.

ANGEL (persistently): She said we'd meet again in a realm of eternal light. Does _that_ mean anything to you?

Now that the couch is clear, LILAH sits down on it.

LILAH: You're asking me about eternal light? Think this through.

BRITTANY (coming in to sit beside LILAH): He didn't mention that to me. It's a line from _Frankenstein_.

ANGEL and LILAH (over each other): _Frankenstein_?

LILAH: Now that's a twist.

BRITTANY: "What may not be expected in a realm of eternal light?" It's supposed to be about the power of science. It's ironic. (She pauses.) It's also about Antarctica, but that's a little out of the way. Six months of sun.

LILAH: There's your explanation. You read it, forgot the context for a while, now it's come back to you.

ANGEL: I never read it. And it doesn't say anything about meeting.

BRITTANY: It's a dream, Angel. Not everything has to be supernatural, or make sense.

LILAH: Not even when you're dead, which you aren't any more. (to BRITTANY) How's Mother?

BRITTANY: I think the new drugs have stopped working. They said it's metastasized to her liver. She still likes the room, she says. It's sunny.

BRITTANY reaches over to grip LILAH's hand. After a moment, LILAH squeezes back, then pulls away when she sees ANGEL is watching.

LILAH (lightly): The things we sell our souls for.

There is a moment of uncomfortable silence.

ANGEL: I should have known it wasn't real. I'm not him. I don't have anything to do with him. He's dead.

LILAH: Of course you don't. (She gets up.) You know, officially, Wolfram and Hart discourages gloating as a matter of policy. But, since there's absolutely nothing you can do.... If you want to see the new face of apocalypse, check out 1358 Shelby Street. Consider it an...inducement, Britt.

BRITTANY and ANGEL look at each other, and the camera defocuses to blur LILAH's image beyond them. There is a shimmery effect, and when they look back (and we can see the area clearly again), she's gone.

CUT TO  
EXT. FACTORY DISTRICT--NIGHT

The camera follows ANGEL's convertible down a cavern of a street between blocky warehouses and misshapen metal-piped factory buildings. BRITTANY is riding shotgun; ANDREW and NOVEMBER are in the back seat.

NOVEMBER: For someone who's so sure he's completely human, Angel, this dream is really freaking you out. People dream about their pasts, and you've got a lot more past than we do.

ANDREW: Well, technically it's not exactly his past any more. It's part of being a vam-pire. They remember a life, but it isn't really theirs, so I guess it works the other way too. Right?

NOVEMBER: But he still remembers it. It's not even about Angelus' past. He met Buffy a long time after he got his soul back.

ANGEL (irritable): It's not polite to talk about people when they're in the car with you.

BRITTANY: I apologize if this is too personal, but we're all trying to help you work this out. Did you love Darla?

ANGEL: I thought I'd explained that. When we were together, it was all about the thrill. I was too concerned about myself to love anyone. That's how vampires are.

BRITTANY: Let me rephrase that. I can believe that Angelus couldn't love her. But I'm asking about you. After you got your soul back, did _you_ love her?

ANGEL: She was a monster. She'd murdered thousands of people. I had to kill her.

BRITTANY: And at this point, the lawyer says, "Answer the question: yes or no?"

NOVEMBER: Objection! Badgering the witness!

BRITTANY (turning to scowl at her): You watch too much television. Angel?

ANGEL: No! No, I didn't love her! How could I love someone like that?

BRITTANY: I see. Tell me something. Do you think anyone's ever loved _you_?

ANGEL: Are you a law student or a psychologist?

BRITTANY (staying calm): A good lawyer has to be a little of that too. Angel, people don't love rationally, or not only that. Sometimes they fall for people they shouldn't. And it isn't always possible to make the divisions between people that they ought to, either. Are you telling me you can always separate out human and demon and make the right decision every single time? Because I don't think I can buy that.

ANGEL: I can make the division because I've lived it, Brittany. I know the difference between myself and Angelus. We don't have anything in common.

ANGEL makes a violent turn down a side street.

ANGEL: I know better than to let my feelings for a human blind me about a vampire. You just have to...shut them off, and ignore appearances.

BRITTANY: So you're good at shutting off your feelings. That's interesting.

ANDREW: Brittany, maybe this isn't the best time to pester Angel about his past.

BRITTANY (overly reasonable): But it's not his past. It's Angelus' past. He has nothing to worry about, because he knows for absolutely certain the two of them are completely separate.

ANGEL pulls the convertible over to a screeching halt. A cluster of black-suited motorcyclists roar by dangerously close.

BRITTANY (calmly): We're not there yet.

ANGEL: I want to know what you're trying to prove.

BRITTANY: I'm not trying to prove anything. I'm trying to work out why you might have this dream that's bothering you so much. I thought you wanted us to help. You've said yourself that the personality of the demon does come from the human. Andrew, you're the demon expert. Does that sound right to you?

ANDREW: I-I guess. It's not like I ever tried to summon a vampire.

BRITTANY: So either the personality is copied--in which case, Angel, you'd still be the copy except for your soul--or it's transferred and altered. You keep trying to draw this hard-and-fast line between yourself and Angelus, and I'm sorry, but I don't think it holds up. All the more so because you're not consistent about it. You say something totally different when your guard's down.

ANGEL (furious): If I were Angelus, you'd be dead by now.

BRITTANY (still keeping her cool): You're not Angelus. But Angelus comes from you. Some part of you--the worst part--survived in him. And that same part still survives right now in you. I'm not telling you this to tell you what to do about it, Angel. That's up to you. I'm saying that if I'm right, then what happened between you and Darla makes sense, and so does what you think might be happening between you and Buffy.

NOVEMBER: But if the demon was still part of him, we'd sense it. Or some Slayer would have, anyway.

BRITTANY: Not everything supernatural is demonic. Not even for demons, I'd think. Andrew, I know you're not some great sorceror, but you know a little magic. If you do something, can Willow recognize you in it?

ANDREW (nodding vigorously): Always. Sometimes I know what she's done, too. It's like she's rubbed herself all over...um, maybe not the best metaphor.

BRITTANY: So if the demon taking over isn't the whole story--and it doesn't seem to be--then Darla did something huge to you, Angel. And in the process, she left her fingerprints all over your mind.

ANGEL, a little calmer now, pulls out and resumes driving.

ANGEL (clearly still upset): But fingerprints wouldn't carry to the next vampire in the chain.

BRITTANY: Maybe not the best metaphor from me either. I only know this stuff academically. Till you're back in touch with Willow, I'd say talk about it with Andrew.

Gunshots erupt from a short distance away.

BRITTANY (pointing unhappily): And that would be our stop.

CUT

END OF ACT II


	24. Haven: In Depth Act III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soon, I promise!

ACT III  
INT. WAREHOUSE--NIGHT

The warehouse is emptier now--most of the sleeping pallets have been left as they lie, but a substantial number of the vampires who bed down here seem to have gone out. Those that remain are either clustered in small groups, talking, or they're standing guard. MICHELLE and GABRIEL are sitting on a small crate near a painted-over window.

MICHELLE: They're going to run out before it comes around to us. We should leave while there's time.

GABRIEL: I keep telling you, the vampire population in Chicago is a lot lower than it used to be.

MICHELLE (derisive): Because they're leaving for some alternate universe? Does having a soul make you gullible, too?

GABRIEL: Well, either they're leaving or they're dying. Take your pick. If they're dying, then why did I keep hearing there was a safe haven here?

MICHELLE (pausing to consider this): Propaganda?

GABRIEL: About what exactly?

MICHELLE: Oh, come on! You know what this is? It's just another cult. He practically admitted it. (A female vampire in a grey blouse and khakis appears behind her, vamped out and walking toward the couple.) They're trying to recruit us, and you're falling for it.

KIM (coming around MICHELLE, who jumps): It's the truth. I've seen it.

KIM gives GABRIEL a dismissive glance, and KIM and MICHELLE glare at each other and circle slowly, sizing each other up.

KIM: I don't blame you for being skeptical. I was. People like your boytoy here...you're right, they're gullible. But it doesn't take a soul to know when you're about to be toast. There aren't as many of us who want to go--just the smart ones.

MICHELLE (derisively): You've seen it.

KIM: Looked like something off of _Sliders_. I didn't quite make the cutoff. They can only take so many at once, but I'm on the next flight out. You'll be lucky to get a seat. Didn't realize any of _our_ kind lived on rat, or do you just puke it back up after you eat?

MICHELLE: Blame it on soul boy. I'll get better. If you're so strong, why're you running like a scared human?

GABRIEL (worried): Ahem...ladies...ah, is this really necessary?

KIM: Imagine. He doesn't want to see a catfight. (snickers) Are you sure he's into you? I've heard rumors about what a soul can do to a guy.

MICHELLE (glancing back at him with a wicked but affectionate grin): No question in my mind. (She winks at him.)

KIM: Eyugh. (shrugging) You're welcome to him. Anyway, it's not about me or how strong I am. The end's coming. I'm not planning to stick around for it.

MICHELLE: Why so sure?

KIM: You want the truth? Prophecy.

Faint rumbling noises can be heard coming from outside.

MICHELLE (a beat, then bursts into laughter): Prophecy?

KIM: Laugh all you want. Some of the old stuff is for real. My sire was in this "Order" once, and he--

Multiple gunshots ring out. A motorcycle crashes through one of the large painted-over windows, followed by several more. The riders are wearing black clothing and face-concealing black helmets. Angry screaming ensues.

There is a small hole in KIM's blouse and another in GABRIEL's sleeve. KIM's eyes widen, but MICHELLE lets a breath out, relieved.

MICHELLE: It's just--

KIM dusts.

GABRIEL: What the hell? (He begins clawing at his arm.)

MICHELLE: I thought you said guns couldn't hurt us! Let me see that!

MICHELLE shoves him behind a large crate as more gunfire echoes through the building and begins digging the bullet out of his arm. 

Motorcycles roar in the relatively confined space. A few of the vampires seem to be panicking, but most are retreating in an orderly fashion into protective niches formed out of stacked boxes, or into doorways. A noisy rock melody begins to play over the chaos.

MICHELLE holds up a bloody object; she inserts it into her mouth and removes it clean. The bullet has a metallic core, but this is surrounded by a now-fractured cylindrical wooden layer.

(Metallica's "Powerslave" plays: _Now I am cold but a ghost lives in my veins/Silent the terror that reigned_ )

GABRIEL: Damn. I knew they'd come up with something like that one of these days.

MICHELLE: They still have to know how to shoot. Look.

( _Marbled in stone/A shell of a man God preserved/From thousand ages/But open the gates of my hell/I'll strike from the grave_ )

The motorcyclists have cut off several of the vampires from escape and are circling them. Methodically, they shoot each of the trapped vampires in the heart, but some take more than one shot to dust--evidently the heart is not an easy target.

One of the motorcyclists removes his helmet, revealing that he too is a vampire. Several of the others begin to reload. (The music goes into an instrumental interlude.)

MOTORCYCLE VAMPIRE: You can't run from this, you morons! There's no hole deep enough to hide in! Now come out and fight for us, or we'll root you out like the deserters you are! We won't have you stabbing us in the back!

A volley of wooden spears and arrows erupts from several of the hiding places among the crates. One spear strikes the lead vampire directly in the chest, only to bounce off with a dull metallic thud. 

MOTORCYCLE VAMPIRE: Open fire!!!

( _Tell me why I had to be a Powerslave_ )

The motorcyclists raise their guns--and something strikes the loading bay door with an immense bang. It bulges inward but fails to give way, and muffled shouting can be heard from outside. The motorcycle vampires spin to cover the bay door and the smaller doors nearby with their weapons, but no one enters. The hiding vampires take the opportunity to throw more makeshift weapons, as ineffectively as before--several hit but none pierce the motorcyclists' body armor.

( _I don't wanna die, I'm a God/why can't I live on?_ )

Then BRITTANY and NOVEMBER charge in through a side entrance that leads through an office, keeping low and pushing a large metal desk from that office in front of them. Several of the motorcycle vampires begin to fire at the desk; the leader hurries to replace his helmet. Some of the hiding vampires also take this opportunity to leap from cover and attack the motorcyclists.

( _When the Life Giver dies/all around is laid waste_ )

The desk slams into the two frontmost motorcyclists, bowling them over. Now that the attackers are more occupied with the vampires emerging from their hiding places, BRITTANY and NOVEMBER come out from behind their cover. BRITTANY trips one of the motorcyclists and punches her in the stomach as she falls. NOVEMBER slams full-tilt into a second rider, knocking him to the floor, and attempts to stake him; once again, the stake won't penetrate a layer of armor.

The motorcyclists begin to mount up again, apparently trying to regain the advantage of mobility.

The VAMPIRE LEADER, who made the speech earlier, attempts to pull down one of the attackers from his cycle. Another motorcyclist shoots him in the back, and he turns to dust.

( _And in my last hour/I'm a slave to the power of Death._ )

GABRIEL: You stay put!

He begins to charge out of his hiding place waving a broken piece of wood. MICHELLE grabs him and pulls him back.

MICHELLE (affectionately): Moron. I'm not staying put unless you do.

GABRIEL: If we're going to be part of this group, we need to help them out, and you're--

MICHELLE: Not helpless, damn it!

MICHELLE picks up a stray length of rebar from the floor behind the crates and hurls it like a spear at one of the motorcycles. SLO-MO on the rebar as it passes between the spokes of a rear wheel, jamming it. The cycle and its rider go flying.

( _And in my last hour/I'm a slave to the power of Death._ )

A passing motorcyclist clotheslines BRITTANY, knocking her off the individual she's fighting. She gets up, gasping for breath.

One of the vampire "cultists" is clinging to a motorcycle, attempting to cut off the rider's head with a sharp piece of metal; the metallic whanging sound that results indicates some sort of neck guard is in the way.

ANGEL enters through one of the doors near the main bay door, carrying a sword. One of the motorcyclists sees him and begins signaling to the others. Although they appear to have the upper hand, the rest of the cyclists begin to break off the attack, heading for the broken windows or picking up those who have lost their cycles.

The music dies away. Within moments, the invading motorcyclists have vanished.

ANGEL: Did I do that?

CUT TO:

INT. WAREHOUSE--NIGHT

A short time has passed since the motorcycle vampires rather suddenly disappeared into the night. ANGEL, ANDREW, NOVEMBER, and BRITTANY are seated on a cluster of boxes, with a burly VAMPIRE in jeans and a dirty sweater sitting across from them. Many of the others are moving here and there picking up debris.

NOVEMBER: For an apocalypse, that was sort of anticlimactic, don'cha think?

NEW LEADER: Apocalypse? I wouldn't call them an apocalypse.

BRITTANY: My aunt claimed we'd see one going on here.

ANGEL: She was playing games with us. What _did_ happen here, Jason?

JASON: Not everyone's thrilled with the idea of letting us pack up and leave. Some of the less pleasant types think we should all stand and fight back. Me, I'm ready to head for a better world..

ANGEL: A better world is taking vampires? Because last I heard, the only places that would do that were hell dimensions.

JASON: Far as I'm concerned, Angel, Earth's turning into one. At least for us.

At the name "Angel", a small cluster of vampires moves in a little closer, whispering among themselves.

JASON (clearing his throat): Sorry about this...some of my friends here are curious about you. You're the first, you know.

ASIAN VAMPIRE: He points the way. Angel is the future!

JASON (uncomfortable): Well, then, back off and give the guy some space! A little respect already!

Reluctantly, the listeners move off a little distance.

ANGEL (loudly): I'm not anybody's savior. I had a destiny, it was mine, and I fulfilled it. It's not likely to happen again.

ANDREW (quietly): I don't think you're going to persuade anyone that way.

JASON: Some folks agree with you, Angel. Some o' those even think you're some kind of deserter, running off and leaving us to suffer. But, well--if it happened once, maybe it can happen again. Some people think it's what's supposed to happen, to all of us.

ANGEL: I wish that were possible, but I really don't expect it. I'm sorry.

NOVEMBER: Do you really think you're going to be able to escape into some other dimension?

JASON: Raymond actually saw the portal. He was one of the few who's really been there and not gone through. Thought maybe he could help make up for what he'd done by getting us off this world and out of your hair. Most of the rest of us...well, we kinda had to take his word for it, him and the few who got bumped to the next ride for some reason.

ANDREW: So do you know anything about it? A name, or who lives there now, or anything?

JASON: Ray talked about somethin' called the Directorate every now and then, but I'm not sure who that'd be. There've only been a few trips so far, and he said they were still getting things organized on this side. Talked like there might be pamphlets or something to hand out next time around. There are other cells scattered 'round the city. We'll be gettin' in touch with one ourselves, so we hear about the next opening.

BRITTANY: Why not bring everyone here?

JASON: Kid, there ain't room here for everyone as wants to leave! Plus, the portal opens different places. Whoever's closest are usually the ones who get to go. I figure that's been part of the problem getting set up.

Another group of vampires begins to close in, staring at ANGEL again.

ANGEL (annoyed): So basically you don't know much of anything.

ANDREW: Angel, hey, um--

ANGEL: They want to leave? Let them go. It'll probably be better for everyone that way.

ANGEL gets up and begins to stride away. The rest of the group hurry after him.

BRITTANY: Angel, these people are scared and confused. They're looking for answers, for something to be now that they're not just monsters any more. Surely you understand what that's like?

ANGEL: They're running away from their problems. I did the same thing, and I know the only way they're going to learn their lesson is the hard way.

ANDREW: So if you think they're making a mistake, why not just tell them?

ANGEL (with a shrug): Who am I to tell them what to do? I'm not one of them any more.

MICHELLE: For what it's worth, I think you're right about them.

Heads turn. MICHELLE has suddenly attached herself to the right side of the group. GABRIEL appears behind her.

GABRIEL: Hon, I don't think these folks want us leaving with them.

ANGEL: I saw you two in Hagaanah's office.

GABRIEL: We were looking for information.

MICHELLE: He was, anyway. (She eyes ANGEL as if he were an especially tasty snack.) I tend to agree with you. Running won't fix anything. So you were a vampire once?

ANGEL nods, saying nothing.

MICHELLE (incredulous): And you gave it up?

NOVEMBER (changing the subject): What're you doing with _him_? (She points to GABRIEL.) I mean, he's got a soul.

MICHELLE: You can't tell? What is it with everyone today? (She gives GABRIEL a playful nip on the neck.) I love the guy.

ANGEL: That's not possible.

GABRIEL winces uncomfortably and looks away. BRITTANY, meanwhile, raises a significant eyebrow at ANGEL.

MICHELLE: He brought me back. What's not to love?

ANDREW: Um, guys, I hate to say it, but I really don't want her with us.

GABRIEL: That's fine. We don't need to go with you. We're staying.

ANGEL: We don't need her. You don't need her either. Sooner or later, she'll turn on you, no matter what she says.

MICHELLE looks offended.

GABRIEL: I need her.

ANGEL: Then find someone who can restore her soul. What you've got now--it isn't her, and you'd better remember that. A vampire ought to know better.

ANGEL walks away, leaving BRITTANY, ANDREW, and NOVEMBER to trail after him. GABRIEL and MICHELLE stay behind.

GABRIEL (calling after them): I'm cursed, damn it! I won't do that to her!

BRITTANY: Angel...

ANGEL: I've been through this before, more than once. It didn't work with any of them. Not even Darla, in the end. He'll have to learn that for himself.

FOCUS in on GABRIEL and MICHELLE as the others leave. GABRIEL puts an arm around her shoulders. She smiles--not cruelly, not pleasantly, just a slight upturn of her lips--and turns to look at him.

CUT

CODA

INT. RESTAURANT -- NIGHT

ANGEL, ANDREW, NOVEMBER, and BRITTANY are at a table in an otherwise-empty fast-food chain restaurant. The floor is messy, the tables are slightly damaged, and their food looks especially greasy. ANGEL is shoveling down french fries; the others look a bit more dubious about what they're eating. A slightly staticky radio station is playing Jewel's "Who Will Save Your Soul?"

(... _them, try to bustle them, try to cuss them/The cops want someone to bust down on Orleans Avenue_ )

ANDREW: So much for the "current face of apocalypse".

BRITTANY (unconcerned): I think she lied to us.

( _Another day, another dollar, another war, another tower/went up where the homeless had their homes_ )

ANGEL (sarcastically): Of course not. Lilah doesn't lie.

BRITTANY: Aunt Lilah lies whenever she feels the need, "need" being the operative word here. They know everything she does. So she told us what she thought would get us where she wanted us to go, without cluing them in.

( _So we pray to as many different Gods as there are flowers/But we call religion our friend_ )

NOVEMBER: Little heavy on the trust, if you ask me. I mean, seriously, what was that supposed to be? One set of vampires killing another, no innocents in the crossfire? Big deal.

ANDREW: What about the tactics, Nov? Didn't you tell me that fight was all wrong for what we were told was happening?

NOVEMBER: So they were stupid vampires.

( _We're so worried about saving our souls/Afraid that God will take His toll/that we forget to begin but_ )

ANGEL (interested): Wrong how?

NOVEMBER: If they didn't want the others leaving, what was the point of that little massacre? They had the group they slayed cut off. They should've rounded 'em up, told the others where to find them, and set a trap. Or asked for some kind of ransom. Give the culties a good reason to hang around. What they did, that basically says, "Leave or else." Stupid, like I said. But that's normal.

( _Who will save your soul when it comes to the flower?/Who will save your soul after all the lies that you told, boy?_ )

ANDREW: Because Lilah Morgan lies, but vam-pires never do.

BRITTANY: You think they _want_ other vampires to leave? But why?

( _Who will save your soul if you won't save your own?_ )

ANDREW: That's the question, isn't it? My friends--the game is afoot!

INT. COMPOUND -- NIGHT

The motorcyclist vampires are stashing away their cycles in a dingy gray garage. A pair of guards in military fatigues can be briefly seen as the camera pans by the door. 

( _Some are walking, some are talking, some are stalking their kill..._ Music fades out.)

The vampires approach an interior door below a security camera; one of them removes a glove and inserts her hand into a palm scanner.

COMPUTER VOICE: Thank you, Lieutenant Novak. Please proceed.

The door slides open, allowing the motorcyclists into a small locker room, where most of them begin removing their helmets and black jackets. Only three of them are in vamp-face, and as we watch, the one who removed his helmet in the warehouse peels this face off as makeup, discarding it in a trash can.

One of the remaining motorcyclists, helmet still on, walks over to a speaker and video terminal set into the wall and activates it.

MOTORCYCLIST (voice muffled by the helmet): Reporting in as ordered, General.

The face of GENERAL VOLL appears on the video terminal, which fills the television screen.

VOLL (on speaker): I trust the equipment's still working properly?

MOTORCYCLIST (muffled, off-screen): Everything checks out. Except I'm pleased to report we haven't had another opportunity to test the emergency incendiaries, sir.

VOLL (on speaker): Well, good, good. Still no casualties, then.

MOTORCYCLIST (muffled, off-screen): Not on our part, sir. A few bumps and bruises. I'm afraid we accidentally took out the contact.

VOLL (on speaker): They'll find another. What matters is that we keep up the pressure. As long as the Directorate's happy, I have no complaints, soldier. Anything else?

MOTORCYCLIST (muffled, off-screen): Sir, Ang--I mean, Hostile Alpha was on scene. At least, it looked like him. (removing his helmet) His readings were human-normal, sir.

VOLL (on speaker): I've heard rumors regarding that. Nothing for your team to be concerned with. Formal debriefing in half an hour. Keep up the good work, Finn.

RILEY (off-screen, voice clear): Thank you, sir.

Video terminal cuts out.

END

Guest-starring:  
Marc Blucas as Riley Finn  
Rutger Hauer as General Voll


	25. Schism: Rough Edges Act I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yet Another Script Chapter

TEASER

INT. SOLITA'S KITCHEN--DAY

This small but tidy room is dominated by a wooden table surrounded by mismatched chairs, leaving just enough room to make use of the stove, cabinets, and refrigerator. In fact, the table has been shoved close enough to the wall that several of the chairs are probably not used frequently. A cheap print of a Pieta scene hangs above that wall.

DEBORA, a middle-aged Hispanic woman in a flowered blouse, is sitting tiredly in one of the accessible chairs reading a report card.

DEBORA (loudly): Solita?

SOLITA enters, carrying a mathematics schoolbook and a spiral notebook. Her hair is hanging over her left eye, hiding it from view; her right hand is hidden carefully inside a jacket sleeve.

SOLITA (head down): I know, Mama. I'm sorry.

DEBORA: Solita, I'm not angry with you. I'm worried. Have you stopped studying?

SOLITA: No, Mama.

DEBORA: Then what's wrong, honey? Your grades are so bad lately, and your teachers tell me that you've been-- (She reaches out to brush the hair away from SOLITA's eye, which is bruised black and swollen.) Oh, Solita.

SOLITA: I wasn't fighting at school, Mama. Not this time.

DEBORA: Where did you get this, then?

SOLITA turns away and says nothing.

DEBORA: If someone is hurting you, dear, please...tell me. We can get help.

SOLITA: On the way home, I...ran into someone. (She glances up at the picture over the table.) Someone bad. And...not exactly a someone.

DEBORA peers at her, not understanding.

SOLITA: She had....horns. Like...like a picture of the devil. And she was really, really tall.

DEBORA: Solita, you need to tell me the truth. Who hurt you?

SOLITA (desperately): It is the truth, Mama. She said...they...were looking for me. So I hit her, and she hit me back, and I...I....

DEBORA (guessing): You ran away?

SOLITA (swallows hard, frightened): I....no.

DEBORA: What do you mean, no?

Trembling, SOLITA holds up her right hand, letting the sleeve fall away. It's covered in something black and grimy.

SOLITA: No....I didn't run.

THEME PLAYS, CREDITS ROLL

Theme: "What I've Done," Linkin Park

Starring:  
Aishwarya Rai as Sadha Kaur  
Ellen Muth as Dena Greer  
Erica Hubbard as Regan Stacey  
Roy Dotrice as Roger Wyndham-Price  
Ivana Baquero as Solita Munoz  
and Seth Green as Daniel "Oz" Osbourne

Guest starring:  
Elizabeth Pena as Debora Munoz  
Helen Mirren as Elizabeth Wyndham-Price  
Philip Hoffman as Hampton Greer  
Camille Winbush as Ugandan Slayer

ACT I

INT RENTAL HOUSE -- DAY

Open on HAMPTON GREER's face.

HAMPTON (chuckling): You don't call, you don't text...what's a father to do?

Camera pulls back to reveal DENA with her arms wrapped around him.

DENA: Da-ad! It's been a couple of weeks. Nothing much going on between sessions, just waiting for fall semester to start. There's, just, nothing to talk about.

HAMPTON: Well, I'm here to see how my girl is doing. How're you doing?

DENA: It's Orientation. I'm supposed to be helping the new students carry in their stuff. I'm fine, Dad.

HAMPTON: I worry about you, you know. Out here at the university, separated from your family like this, away from your church...(DENA gives him a squeeze, and he grunts.) Oof! Careful!

DENA (laughing and letting go): Dad, you just live across town!

HAMPTON (with a wink): And yet you don't call, you don't text....(more seriously) Your mother and I do worry about you. You should keep in touch...come visit more often.

DENA (irritable): I'm not my brother, Dad. Nothing's going to happen.

HAMPTON: Dena...

DENA: I don't drink, or sleep with everything that--

SADHA enters from another room, stopping well away from the open front door.

DENA: I'm not like him. I'm not going to change just because I'm out of the house.

HAMPTON nods briefly to the unfamiliar woman.

DENA: She's a teacher here. She wanted to meet some of the students who were, uh, staying between semesters.

HAMPTON (bluntly): You fight demons with her?

DENA (fidgeting with her hair): ...Yeah.

HAMPTON (reluctant): Dena, sweetheart...I'm not saying what you're doing isn't real. I've met demons. I've fought demons. I believe in spiritual warfare. But back in the nineties it was sort of a craze. You had pastors seeing demons under every doormat. I got caught up in it, and I dragged you along with me.

DENA: Dad--

SADHA is watching the conversation analytically and in silence.

HAMPTON: Not everyone who's crazy, or sick, or a sinner is possessed. That isn't how the world works. Bad things happen...people do bad things...on their own.

DENA: What I do is real, Dad. This isn't about...about kids high on PCP or something. I speak in tongues. I have...dreams, prophetic dreams. And you remember that month when I was afraid to style my hair, let alone cut it? I had a reason for that, and you know d--...very well what it was. I helped you. We worked together.

HAMPTON: Hon...I know we did. I know better than to think you're sick in the head. But you could hurt someone...or, or you could be sued. If you make a mistake--

DENA (folding her arms): I don't...make...mistakes.

HAMPTON: I know you believe that. That's why I'm worried. (looking around) Do we need all these lights on? It doesn't have to be so dark in here in the daytime. (He moves toward a shaded window.)

SADHA (putting a hand on his arm): I have a condition.

HAMPTON (apparently accepting this): Ah. Got it. I'm sorry. Are you really a teacher?

SADHA: I am. Have been for quite a while.

HAMPTON (shaking his head disbelievingly): I'm sorry, I...it's been a while since I was really involved in this sort of thing. I've done a couple of exorcisms in the last year, that's about all. Sometimes I forget not every believer's from Texas or Alabama.

SADHA (not correcting him): No, indeed not.

DENA looks between them as if waiting for her father to catch on.

HAMPTON: Look...my girl here's kind of headstrong. I know she's got good intentions, and I know what she can do, but...keep her out of trouble, okay? If you can. Don't lead her into it.

SADHA (with a half-smile): I do my best.

HAMPTON: Dena, what do you say to pizza? Your old man's buying.

DENA (glancing between her father and SADHA again): That sounds good. Uh...you mean, out?

HAMPTON: Just the two of us. (to SADHA) It's not a problem, is it? I want to spend some time with my baby girl.

SADHA (making mild shooing motions): I never eat...pizza. It upsets my stomach. Go, enjoy while you can. They grow up so quickly, don't they?

HAMPTON walks out. DENA hangs back for a moment, still looking at SADHA, seeming perplexed. Finally she closes the door behind her.

CUT TO

INT. DINING ROOM--DAY

Open on ROGER WYNDHAM-PRICE's gloating face.

ROGER (theatrically): Ah, stumbled upon my master plan, have you? Well, no matter. You cannot stop me...nothing can stop--

ROGER breaks off, clutching at his chest.

Cut to reveal ROGER is at an elaborately-set dining room table, surrounded by guests. ELIZABETH WYNDHAM-PRICE is seated next to him.

ROGER (amused): And that's when Elizabeth put a crossbow bolt through his heart, right in the middle of his monologue. One simply cannot find villains these days without a tendency to boast about their plans, or put one in deathtraps, or some other such foolishness.

The guests break into laughter.

ELIZABETH: I really do think it's the time-travelers. Demons like that ludicrous Granak fellow Sahjhan, spreading these absurd modern fictional conventions. (with a chuckle) Not that it doesn't come in handy at times.

ROGER: Of course, nowadays one normally has Slayers at hand to carry out missions like that, but back in the day there was only the one, and sometimes one had to take personal risks.

ELIZABETH: I didn't think so much about the risk, myself. It was an adventure, actually. I admit I quite enjoyed myself. Would that I still had the stamina for such things.

ROGER: Well, if only to keep you safe, I'm quite glad you don't. Missions like that are for the young.

ELIZABETH (with a deep sigh): It's such a shame about Wesley. If only he'd applied himself, made some real effort, perhaps he'd be here with us.

FEMALE GUEST (changing an uncomfortable subject): You have a Slayer working for you now, don't you? Personally, I mean?

ROGER: Ah, yes...the girl's a bit limited in some ways. Not much of an education, but under her circumstances it's not as though it were avoidable. She's bright enough, I suppose. Certainly she understands how to follow orders.

CUT TO

INT. CRYPT -- DAY

This darkened, filthy room nonetheless has walls decorated with carved stone sculpture. Inside, the UGANDAN SLAYER is tangling with a pair of wrinkly-faced demons who resemble Clem. One of them attempts to rabbit-punch her from behind, but she twists out of his way, pulling his companion around into the blow's path. Struck in the back, the second demon collapses.

FIRST DEMON: Dammit, Slayer! I said you could have the stupid thing! She's not paying us enough for this!

The SLAYER snarls something in Swahili.

DEMON: Aw, c'mon! Don't you speak Human?

Bringing her fist around for a roundhouse punch, the SLAYER flattens him. She pulls a scrap of paper from her jacket pocket to consult for a moment--it seems to be a crudely-drawn map, with flowing script describing certain locations--then goes to the far wall of the crypt and presses her fingers against a small sculptural relief, causing a panel to slide open.

We can't see the object she removes.

END ACT II


	26. Schism: Rough Edges Act II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One of these days...

ACT II

INT. RENTAL HOUSE LIVING ROOM--NIGHT

OZ is seated on the couch arm, tinkering with his guitar, while REGAN paces the floor. DENA has a laptop in front of her, typing.

REGAN: I don't think we need to wait for Sadha. I mean, what's this Slayer going to do when we show up with a vampire?

OZ shrugs.

DENA: The smart thing?

REGAN: Um. Yeah, good point. Oz, do I have to agree with her when she's right?

OZ: If you admit she's right, you've already agreed.

A door slams; moments later, SADHA hurries into the room carrying a cellular phone. She's wearing a metal bracelet we haven't seen before.

SADHA: I'm afraid it'll just be you and Regan, Oz. There's a problem on campus.

The SLAYERS look at each other. OZ waits expectantly for more.

SADHA: There seems to be this...new kind of spontaneous social activity involving text messaging.

OZ: Flash mobs.

SADHA: Ah...yes, that. I've been contacted regarding a "night of mayhem" outside the library. I can only presume vampires are gathering as we speak. Individually they might not be worthy of our attention, but if they gather in sufficient numbers...

REGAN (disheartened): Violence ensues.

SADHA: Indeed. I don't suppose anyone here knows who "jaelsdaughter77" might be?

There is a brief pause while OZ and REGAN glance at each other.

REGAN: Jay-El? What, she wants people to think she's Kryptonian?

DENA raises her hand as REGAN speaks.

DENA: Um...no. One night of mayhem, coming up courtesy of me. (grinning) Just...not on humans.

REGAN closes her eyes and thwacks a hand against her forehead. SADHA shakes her head in annoyance. Only OZ takes the news in stride.

REGAN: When were you going to tell us about this?

DENA: When I left.

SADHA: I suppose the two of us will have to nip this gathering in the bud, then?

DENA: You're not coming with me. If I see you, I'm assuming you're there for the free snacks. Are we clear on that?

OZ: Going by yourself?

DENA: Like Regan'll be any help? I don't want to have to watch her back. Again.

SADHA: Very well. Go on, then. Enjoy yourself, and don't get killed.

OZ frowns faintly.

REGAN: You can't just let her go. I mean, isn't this entrapment or something?

DENA (tiredly): They're vampires. Get over it.

REGAN: Maybe some of them have souls. You could be tempting them.

OZ: How do you know a vampire?

DENA: How's anyone know a vampire? Roshelle disappeared just before summer session finals. I called to check up on her, and she went into this rant about slaughtering the unworthy.

SADHA (drily): Well. That sounds familiar. She's undead, no question about it.

DENA (insistently): If she's not a vampire, how'd you hear about it? Anyway, I get there and find humans, I send them home.

REGAN: Unless they're already dead.

SADHA: Enough! Regan, she's already set her plan in motion. All we can do now is follow through. Dena, show up on time and, as I said, try not to die. The rest of us will go find the new Slayer. Good luck.

SADHA gestures to OZ and REGAN and walks out the front door.

CUT TO

EXT. RENTAL HOUSE--NIGHT

OZ and REGAN join SADHA, who is walking toward OZ's van. DENA can be seen looking out the window.

REGAN: You're just going to let her go alone?

SADHA walks around the van and opens the door on that side, then closes it again, loudly, without entering.

SADHA: Of course not. Good luck to the two of you as well.

She walks off down the sidewalk, concealed from the house behind the van. OZ and REGAN glance at each other and get into the van.

CUT TO  
INT. STUDY -- NIGHT

ROGER is seated behind his desk, speaking quietly to a young Asian man, when the UGANDAN SLAYER bursts into the room without so much as an announcement, speaking in Swahili.

ROGER: If you'll pardon me a moment, it appears something urgent has come up. Grant, if you don't mind?

GRANT shrugs nonchalantly and moves over to study the bookshelves as ROGER gestures to the SLAYER to a seat in front of the desk.

SLAYER (in Swahili, subtitled): I followed the inscriptions. They led me to a crypt beneath City Hall.

ROGER: (subtitled): I don't suppose the Helm of Kasparov was there, or you'd have it with you.

SLAYER (subtitled): No. I found only this.

The SLAYER holds up a chess piece, a white pawn. ROGER stares at it for a long moment, then chuckles briefly.

SLAYER: (subtitled): Sir?

ROGER (subtitled): Kasparov. Sadha's taunting me. (looking at the SLAYER's puzzled expression) Kasparov is also the name of a famous chess player.

SLAYER (subtitled): She's outmaneuvered you? She has the Helm already?

ROGER (subtitled; slowly, considering): Whether or not it exists, I don't believe the Helm was ever here. No...the renegade has some other purpose in mind. And it involves me somehow, or she wouldn't have lured me here.

SLAYER (subtitled): Then I will help you pack.

ROGER (subtitled, dismissively): No, no. She wouldn't send me a message like this unless she intends to control my movements. She wishes me to believe she means me some immediate harm. But it's a bluff. It must be. Otherwise, why be so brazen about it?

SLAYER (subtitled): What do you intend to do, sir?

ROGER (subtitled): Why, entertain my guests, of course. Take some time off; you've earned it. I'm told "Sonic the Hedgehog" is very good for improving reaction time. If I don't take action according to the renegade's plans, she'll become nervous and make a blunder. Then we'll know what she's truly up to.

ROGER stands up and goes over to speak to GRANT.

SLAYER (hesitantly): Hedge...hog?

CUT TO

INT. APARTMENT HALLWAY -- NIGHT

OZ and REGAN are making their way through a run-down apartment building. The paint is chipped and flaking off the walls, and many of the numbers on the doors are skewed or even missing.

REGAN: This sucks. No one should have to live like this.

OZ: Could be worse.

REGAN: We've got enough money to help her family out, right?

OZ says nothing, looking up and down the hall at all the doors.

REGAN stops in front of a door marked 649; the middle number has vanished, leaving only a faded imprint on the wood.

REGAN: The desk clerk said the girl who lives here's been sneaking around and coming in late, and this is the block we saw her on.... (hesitating) She might be seeing someone, or on drugs.

OZ reaches out and knocks on the door.

REGAN: Okay, I guess this is the best lead we have.

There is a long silence, after which Oz knocks again, louder. Finally the door opens slightly, held by a chain.

DEBORA (from behind the door): What do you want?

REGAN: We need to talk to your daughter.

DEBORA: You are not from her school. We have nothing to say to you.

OZ: Senora, we've been looking for your daughter for a while. We can help her, if you'll let us in.

The sound of running footsteps comes from behind the door.

DEBORA: Solita, where are you going? (She moves away from the door, vanishing from view.)

SOLITA (from some distance away, panicky): They're here for me!

The sound of shattering glass echoes down the hall.

END ACT II


	27. Schism: Rough Edges III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise...

ACT III

EXT. LIBRARY -- NIGHT

DENA is walking down the sidewalk, wearing a bulky jacket and carrying a sheathed sword. She turns in front of a large brick building and heads down the narrow pathway on its left side. No one is there, and after looking up into the trees for a few moments she goes on around the building. A pair of guys talking about a basketball game is behind the library, but no one else; she examines them for a moment and moves on. As she rounds the next corner DENA grimaces disgustedly. No one is here either.

As she heads for the last corner, someone drops from the wall above and behind her, landing lightly in the grass. DENA hears or senses this and spins around.

SADHA: Looking for someone?

DENA (angry): I told you what'd happen if I found you here.

SADHA: Ah, yes. Well, it seems you and I are the only ones here for the party. You don't suppose I might have sent out warnings of a Slayer trap, do you?

DENA (snarling): Why the hell'd I trust you?

DENA draws the sword hanging at her belt.

SADHA: I'm afraid I have no idea. Is that thing really allowed on campus?

DENA (rolling her eyes): Obviously it's a prop. No one would carry a real sword, right?

DENA charges forward, holding the sword up, and slashes at SADHA's midsection with it; clearly it's not actually a prop. SADHA leaps backward and out of the way.

SADHA (smiling, unconcerned): I'm a demon, after all. It's not as though I have actual priorities, or your best interests at heart. I certainly haven't told you that I'm perfectly fine with your hunting of vampires--

DENA drives the sword at SADHA's chest; SADHA evades it with a precise movement to the right.

SADHA: --or that I simply think you should concentrate your energies on targets of actual significance.

DENA brings the blade down in an arc at SADHA's head. SADHA puts her hands up to catch it between them; a bit of blood trickles from between her palms, but the sword halts.

SADHA: Kill all the foot soldiers you like, but the war will go right on. In the real world, all kingdoms crumble first from the inside.

SADHA forces the sword away from her, then kicks DENA squarely in the stomach, hurling her backwards. She puts her bleeding left hand to her mouth.

SADHA: Hmm. Could use a little fear. Shame I don't have any on hand.

DENA (getting up): I'm just a soldier myself. I don't have to end the war on my own. (She thinks a moment and snickers.) You're trying to tempt me. You want me to think about my own personal glory.

DENA lunges forward, driving her tattooed right fist at SADHA's face; SADHA catches it, and smoke quickly begins to rise from the hand.

DENA: Sorry....not interested.

SADHA (holding onto DENA's fist with a grimace): I'd accuse you of not caring about human casualties, but it's entirely clear that's not the case.

Very abruptly she lets go of DENA's hand, makes a fist, and slams it into DENA's face before she can react.

SADHA: You simply have no imagination. You don't care about ending this war--(she drives a second blow into DENA's stomach)--because you can't conceive of anything else. How pathetic. How sad.

DENA dodges SADHA's third blow, though the punch to the gut has winded her. Crouching low, breathing hard, she retrieves her sword.

SADHA: Your friend understands. She simply doesn't have the courage to make the hard decisions. Perhaps this new girl will serve better, especially if she's as young as Oz thinks. The young ones are...easily molded.

DENA (coldly): I can't believe I hesitated. (Her sword comes up.) You're not even good at pretending. (She swings with all her strength.)

SADHA (ducking low to evade): And what is it you think--

DENA's blade drops lower as well, just a little too fast for SADHA to try something else, and slices cleanly through her neck.

For a moment, DENA looks satisfied. There is a soft thud, followed by a second one. DENA's eyes widen in shock.

SADHA's body lies on the ground--unmoving, but very definitely solid.

CUT TO

INT. APARTMENT HALLWAY -- NIGHT

REGAN, growing panicky, shoves the door hard, and the chain bursts out of the wall. DEBORA stares wide-eyed at the intruder for a moment, then picks up a very large pair of scissors from the table and backs away.

OZ: We only want to help you and your daughter. Regan, go find her.

DEBORA: What are you? My Solita is a good girl. She doesn't want to--

REGAN dodges past DEBORA and out of the room.

OZ: I'm sure she's a good person. We're here to help her stay out of trouble. That's all. We didn't mean to scare her.

REGAN (off-screen): Whoa! Oz!

OZ: Busy here! What happened?

DEBORA: What did you do to my daughter?

REGAN (off-screen): Nothing. But she...she jumped.

DEBORA (horrified): Out the window?

OZ: How bad does she look?

REGAN (off-screen): She's fine. She took off down the alley. Oz, I couldn't take a six-story jump without breaking something. I'm going down the fire escape.

OZ: Go! (to DEBORA) Your daughter's very special, senora, but we need to find her. She might accidentally hurt someone.

DEBORA: She's been fighting at school. (OZ nods.) Today she came home...she had something on her hand...she said it was a demon's blood.

OZ: Was it?

DEBORA stares at him as if he's crazy.

CUT TO

EXT. CITY STREET -- NIGHT

REGAN comes hurtling out of the alleyway and around the corner. SOLITA is already a couple of blocks ahead, but the sidewalks are nearly deserted, so her form is clearly visible in pools of light from the flickering streetlamps.

REGAN (under her breath): Dammit. (louder) Look, we're not gonna hurt you! Come back!

She takes a deep gulp of air and pours on the speed.

We switch to viewing SOLITA, also pounding down the sidewalk at top speed, her eyes full of terror. She's fast, but as she glances back we can see REGAN gaining on her.

Back to REGAN, as a car roars out of a side street ahead of her. She leaps into the air, her feet striking the hood only twice before she's over and past. Shouts of surprised fear and anger come from the car, but she keeps moving.

SOLITA (winded): Go away! Just leave me alone!

SOLITA turns to glance back at REGAN again, and as she does we can see a pickup truck speeding towards the intersection.

REGAN (waving her hands frantically): Stop! Look--

Braking, skidding, unable to stop, the truck slams into SOLITA head-on, tossing her down the street like a rag doll.

CUT TO

EXT. LIBRARY -- NIGHT

DENA is still staring at the decapitated Watcher when music begins to play. She jumps, but it's only a ring tone. Looking around vaguely she spots a cell phone lying beneath a small tree and, still in shock, she picks it up.

The phone is coated in a thin layer of dust. DENA rubs her fingers through it, rubs them together, and drops the phone without answering.

SADHA (offscreen, sounding hoarse): That was less than pleasant.

DENA (turning): Wh--...what are you?

SADHA is lying on the ground, propping her torso up with one hand while she massages her neck with the other.

SADHA (hoarsely): The term is pennangalan. I'm sure you haven't heard it. At the very least, though, I'd have thought you had listened when they tried to tell you about Dracula. Or the Master, for that matter. There are...ways and means.

DENA: What the hell is a penna--never mind. It's some way of coming back after I slay you.

SADHA: More or less. There's a ritual, quite unpleasant, involving an extended decapitation with a magical blade. Scar tissue prevents the wounds from healing completely. Supposedly there's an additional technique the eldest know, about separating body parts and sending them flying through the air. I'd never seen it done myself--thought it a rather silly legend--but Angel told me a very interesting story recently...well, that's not important.

DENA: So I stake you, you stay dead.

SADHA: True enough. If I still have not convinced you there's a great deal you don't understand, feel free. As I told you before, if a vampire is of no use to you, kill it.

DENA glances down at the cell phone, which has stopped ringing.

DENA: You said you warned them.

SADHA: I said I might have warned them. I didn't.

DENA: I don't get it...you...you pushed me to try to slay you.

SADHA (with an irritable sigh): At any time, I could lose my soul, or simply fall victim to temptation, and return to my old ways. I want to be certain there is someone around who will kill me if that happens. Who will act without hesitation or guilt. I appreciate pity, Dena, I appreciate mercy, but I make no claim to deserve them. Congratulations. You pass the test.

DENA (considering that for a moment): Not sure I trust a vampire's compliments either. What would you've done if I didn't have a sword on me?

SADHA (shrugging): I'd have waited till you did, of course. I explained to you what a pennangalan is. Who or what is Jael?

DENA: From the book of Judges...she killed a general named Sisera with a tent peg. To the head, not the heart, but, well...choice of weapon, y'know?

[A metal beat begins to play in the background.]

SADHA: Ah.

DENA: Always loved that story.

Demon Hunter's "Storm the Gates of Hell" begins. Wake the lifeless/Die to fight this 

DENA turns and begins walking toward the concrete path. After a moment, she looks back. SADHA has gotten up and is following.

Stand beside me/Storm the gates of Hell/Storm the gates of Hell

Music fades.

CUT TO

EXT. CITY STREET -- NIGHT

The truck that hit SOLITA has come to a crooked halt a few yards from her. The DRIVER is out of his vehicle, crouching over her and talking frantically on his cell phone.

DRIVER: --Yes, yes, I know, it's my fault, just get someone out here...

REGAN comes racing up.

REGAN (winded): Is she breathing? How bad is it?

DRIVER (babbling): She just ran out in front of me, I tried to stop....

REGAN (a little harsh): It's not your fault! Now how bad?

DRIVER: I don't know! She's breathing, but--

SOLITA's eyes open. She lifts a hand to her head before anyone can think to stop her.

SOLITA: Ow.

REGAN: Don't...you shouldn't move. Why'd you run? I told you, we don't want to hurt you.

SOLITA: Esta...I...that's what she said. The monster...

REGAN (quickly): Guess she has a concussion.

SOLITA looks at REGAN as if REGAN is out of her mind.

OZ and DEBORA finally come running up. DEBORA immediately falls to her knees on the ground next to her daughter and begins to cry softly.

OZ: Regan.

REGAN (quietly): I don't know. I've never been hit by a car. She looks bruised up pretty bad. There should be an ambulance here soon.

OZ tilts his head in the direction of SOLITA and her mother.

SOLITA is sitting up.

END ACT III

CODA

INT. EMERGENCY ROOM -- NIGHT

DEBORA is sitting beside SOLITA's bed, holding her hand. SOLITA is bruised, more so than when she came home, but smiling and looking strong. Several DOCTORS are in one corner of the room arguing quietly. Finally one of them separates from the group and walks over to the bedside.

DR. WORTH: I can run some more tests, but I can tell you right now what they're going to say. Serious bruising, one cracked rib, no damaged organs or broken bones. I've seen cases something like this before, especially in children--they're a bit more resilient--but not to this degree. I don't know how to explain it, other than to say you have one incredibly lucky daughter.

DEBORA: So then what will you do with her?

DR. WORTH: We should keep her till tomorrow for observation--situations like this are very unusual, and sometimes there's damage we didn't see immediately. But...assuming nothing happens...I don't see any reason you can't take her home.

CUT TO 

INT. WAITING ROOM -- NIGHT

REGAN, OZ, SADHA, and DENA are all here--DENA is pacing, but the rest have settled comfortably, if uneasily, into chairs. There has been some attempt to create a pleasant atmosphere with appropriate colors and a few paintings, but this is clearly not a top-of-the-line hospital.

REGAN (quietly): I still don't get anything from her. I can feel her there, if she's close, but that's about all. I should be able to tell she's a Slayer, at arm's length, maybe further, but....there's nothing.

DENA: She was hit by a truck--nice going, by the way, Regan--and nothing's broken? That's...I don't even know what that is.

SADHA: She is a Slayer.

REGAN: If I were hit by a truck--hell, if I jumped out a sixth-story window--I'd break a leg or something.

SADHA: You're faster and more sensitive than Dena. Dena is stronger than you. Not all Slayers are exactly alike, even accounting for their backgrounds. Solita must simply be extremely resilient, even for a Slayer.

DENA: She's so young.

SADHA: It's not unheard of.

OZ: It's not as though she was decapitated.

SADHA (cracking her neck): That was very unpleasant. And it's not a terribly useful ability if you're alone and your opponent knows what to expect. Please let's not discuss it openly. Though I could use something to..."wet my whistle".

DENA: I....guess I can't blame you.

SADHA: Of course you can.

OZ studies SADHA appraisingly.

CUT TO

INT. ROGER'S STUDY

ROGER is examining the wooden chess pawn the SLAYER brought to him beneath a magnifying glass. There's a fine seam along the base. Peering at it, he frowns and gives it a twist.

The base pops free, revealing a thin strip of paper rolled inside.

It reads: "Watcher to Watcher--we really should talk."

ROGER sneers, pulls out a lighter, and holds the message over a small glass tray to set it ablaze.

END  
ROLL CREDITS


	28. Strange Aeons

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Turns out I have no need to alter the tenses on this one; it was always a little set apart from the others temporally. What do you expect from an Illyria POV?

...What though the field be lost?  
All is not lost; the unconquerable will,  
And study of revenge, immortal hate,  
And courage never to submit nor yield,  
And what is else not to be overcome?  
\--Milton, _Paradise Lost  
_  
 _Intersection: the alley._

Illyria crouched among the corpses. The space between buildings stank of acrid blood, of ash, of ozone. Before her lay the mortal remains of the human who called himself Charles Gunn.

One of the half-breeds appeared before her, his face finger-streaked with faint lines of sodden ashes. "I tried," said Angel. "I tried to save him."

"You failed," Illyria said, and was surprised to find condemnation in her voice. Angel had done nothing to affront her. She tried to soften her tone. "Your lieutenant's death was inevitable by the mere fact of his joining battle here."

"Was Spike's?" Angel queried. Of course--it was Spike's ashes on his face. He had been reaching out to pull the other half-breed from the dragon's flames when the blond one combusted.

"Of course," Illyria responded. "So yours should have been." Angel had considerable skill in battle for one so young, but he was only a vampire. "The aura of power you carried is fading."

"Hamilton's blood," Angel said listlessly. "I was fighting them with their own power. No wonder I--what's wrong?"

She ignored the insult his implication carried. "When does it end?" she asked him.

"The fight's over."

"I am still experiencing grief," she explained reluctantly. "In fact, the emotion has grown stronger." The half-breed refused to enlighten her. "We have triumphed in battle. Our vengeance is attained. When does the grief end?"

Angel kept silence for an additional five seconds, presumably to annoy her. Just as she was about to demand an answer...."It doesn't," he said. "It never goes away."

"Inform me how to end it," she insisted. "I do not believe you are still grieving for..." She paused. Wesley had informed her, inadvertantly, that her mere existence kept the wound of the shell's death open. "...your liason with the powers."

"I still miss Cordy," he lied, his face altering minutely in a further attempt at deception. "I'm still grieving Darla. I'm still grieving _my father_ , and I hated the man's guts. _It never goes away._ Not completely."

Illyria decided to accept this provisionally. "But it lessens?"

"In time," Angel said, pronouncing her doom. "The memory fades."  
****  
Illyria has no memories of her own.

She has Fred Burkle's, of course, transmitted to her in the moment of the shell's death. The alien experience, the "sparks" that entered her function systems, remain with her still. How could it be otherwise?

Illyria has no memories because she does not require them. Motion through time is a human conceit, an illusion born of their limited existence. What Illyria experiences, she continues to experience, her existence woven eternally through space-time. Her future is still in motion, her past largely fixed, but each is as real as her present. Angel has experienced this, briefly, though he did not understand. The fallout of that event dimmed her awareness, like the power that came with it, but the mechanism remains the same.

For this reason it is impossible to follow Illyria's history. Illyria does not "flash back". Illyria does not "plan ahead". She knows, or--much more frequently than before--does not.

One can only map the intersections between "now" and "before".  
****  
 _Now._

Old Ones do not run.

Once Illyria could have covered the distance between the detective's office and the Hyperion in the blink of a human eye, striding imperiously among halted cars and motionless pedestrians. It baffled her that humans did not understand why she hated change. Change was loss. The loss of her empire. The loss of her powers. The loss of those individuals that--quite inexplicably--she had come to value.

Illyria was tired of loss.

She resolved that when her new empire over the world of man was established, she would make an end of change and loss. Perhaps her powers over time could be restored, mortality made to obey her as all things should. The array of possible futures did not change; either this outcome was already guaranteed, or it was impossible. She knew which she preferred to believe.

What mattered in this moment was the recovery of the anomalous human, Alexander Harris. Once the Slayers discovered his changed loyalties, they would either execute him or--being squeamish near-humans themselves--imprison him until their Watchers decided he was a liability. She had no illusions that he would respond positively to her, nor did she comprehend what the red-haired witch had suggested she might learn from him, but Willow Rosenberg had agreed that something about his survival had to do with humanity's rise to power. If it could serve humanity, it could serve her as well.

Besides, she...missed him. His rise from apparent powerlessness; his bitter grief; his stubborn insistence that a human could be and do what an Old One could not, in spite of all evidence that she was the greater--these did, in fact, remind her of Wesley, who had been her guide in spite of himself. And who was now gone.

How ironic that her previous self could have stepped across the worlds and retrieved Wesley, but never would have cared to. Illyria had lost far too much before his death. How dare the universe take from her, and without compensation, rather than offer tribute?

One of the humans' reeking combustion chariots howled to a stop just short of striking her. Illyria increased her pace...marginally. The conveyance could not have harmed her....

But she had no intention of losing more.  
****  
 _Intersection: Cleveland._

Angel had led her into the scorpion pit. Though she suspected their stings could not harm her, Illyria respected his attempt to offer amusement. Indeed, she found some small humor in the Hellmouth having attracted twelve Slayers; she knew Slayers to their bones, knew what they were better than they did.

_Intersection: Vahla Ha'Nesh._

_....the Trackerbeast tore out the Blood-Drinker's throat, drove woody talons into its heart, and began to feed. Cheers echoed across the arena, followed by a few mutters of annoyance as Illyria collected its winnings_....

"The last I heard, you'd allied yourself with Wolfram and Hart. Forgive me for being skeptical when you return accompanied by an Old One and with all your associates dead!" Rupert Giles' self-righteous moral assurance grated on her skin like an exfoliating mudbath. Illyria concluded she could wallow here all day and made no response. Few human emotions were so pleasant, albeit incongruous given that humans had so little to be proud of.

"You ought to know casualties happen when you're fighting a war, Giles. You think I'm not mad as hell they're dead? I am." Angel reciprocated. Illyria tried not to smile too widely; it might unnerve them, and then they would stop. "But they went out fighting the good fight, and that's as good a way to die as there is. We took out the entire Circle of the Black Thorn, and--"

"Our agent in Rome reports the Circle is already being reformed," Giles said sardonically. "I believe an acquaintance of yours there is in serious running for a position. The Senior Partners are untouched. And Wolfram and Hart is still running upwards of thirty branch offices worldwide. Yes, certainly a victory to be celebrated in song and story."

"We hurt them," Angel began to retort, but a disgusting lump melded of anxious frustration, guilt, and ferocity intruded on the conversation. Illyria looked away as if bored; these beings were not worthy to witness her discomfiture.

"Who invited the hellbeast?" Buffy Summers, the eldest Slayer, stormed into the office. "That thing--"

Angel cleared his throat. "--helped me save the world."

"Of course." the Slayer said wryly. "She wants it for herself." She reluctantly averted her attention from Illyria and the halfbreed. "Giles, this thing in the Phillippines..."

"...is being handled adequately by Chao-Anh and Satsu," Giles insisted soothingly. "They have more experience than the poor girl who was killed there. Be glad that that's possible now."

"Damn it, Giles! It was supposed to get easier." Buffy had begun to generate uncomfortable levels of grief as well. Illyria considered lashing out to remove the irritant, then decided that would only demean her further. "Instead we've got vampire cults sprouting up like dandelions all over the yard, and every time we dust one leader, it's like they turn into that white puffy stuff that you blow on and...er, forget I said that part."

"Escalation is inevitable," Illyria muttered.

"Didn't ask your opinion," the Slayer growled. "Giles, does dismemberment work on Old Ones in human bodies?"

Rupert Giles ignored Buffy's question. "Go on, Illyria. By all means, share any strategic wisdom you might have."

Suspecting he was baiting her, Illyria considered ignoring him. She should have said nothing at all. Still, she sensed some level of genuine curiosity. "Previously most vampires had little to fear from a single Slayer. Now there are thousands. The balance of power has shifted. Naturally they will organize and seek to strike back. This is...an inevitable reaction. To kill more will only enrage them, at least until they are sufficiently weakened to be cowed into submission. Surely you understand this."

The Watcher began to clean his glasses. He did understand. The Slayer looked pained. "What the hell else do you expect us to do?" She made a threatening gesture with her fist, which Illyria ignored. "They're not going to stop killing if we let up. They're not human. We can't treat them like they're human."

Illyria considered...shrugged. It was no concern of hers.  
****  
 _Now._

Sparks. She corralled, connected, assembled them.

Illyria had never been one to settle for one life at a time. She built a Fred, a homunculus, shaping the character's details in her mind.

_How would Fred accomplish this task?_

_Why the hell should I care?_ Illyria had the power at her disposal. If she wished, she could carve a path of dead Slayers to whatever she desired.

She did not wish it. _My army is my own. Killing them is no net gain._

_An army of Slayers, serving an Old One? Is there a naked singularity 'round here someplace?_

_There is no...you jest with me._

_Then you jest with yourself. Just a copy, remember? They don't know what you're planning, do they? Sneaky of you._

_If necessary._ Compromise...the very word disgusted her.

_As I hate hell, all Montagues, and.... Slayers won't serve you. They won't fight for you. You should know better. I do._

_I should have known better than to consider the problem from this angle._ She could have reshaped the simulacrum, removed certain attributes. But then its value would have been lessened.

_Why go back for him?_

_Because he interests me. Because I desire it. That is no concern--_

_Of ours? Why'd you go back for Wesley?_

_He interested--_

_You're getting really good at lying if you're doing it to yourself. Nice and human of you._

Illyria began to disassemble the Fred. It did not fulfill the purpose she intended for it. Therefore--

_We don't want to make a frontal attack. But they'll sense us coming a mile away._

_I am distinctive. This era knows nothing like unto me._

_But we've got no idea how to cloak ourselves._ There had never been the need. There had never been the desire. _So you confront them_ without _making a frontal attack._

_That makes no sense._

_If you don't feel anything human, we must have a great poker face._

_Go on._

_You show up with something they want. Or pretending to. Then you bargain with them._

_I will not demean myself--_

_Then you're back to wading through your army's blood._

_Very well._

_You give in fast. Wish I'd had that level of...academic interest in Wes. We'd have had more time together._

Enough. Illyria took the Fred apart, and another step.  
****  
 _Intersection: Cleveland._

"Dammit, Angel!" Nina is upset. Illyria watches the argument, not entirely comprehending.

"I had to go after her," Angel protests. "You couldn't expect me not to."

"No," says Nina, looking down. "No, of course you had to try and save her. And then you had to try and kill her."

"Nina, she's a vampire now. You know--"

"I know what it means!" Nina worries at her jacket. "I know what it means that she's a Slayer, too. She was stronger than you before. But you went alone. You didn't tell me, you didn't tell anyone, you just ran off the moment you heard."

"There wasn't time--"

"Exactly. There wasn't time, no matter what you did or who you didn't tell. You had to know you were going to be too late. That she'd either be dead, or..." Nina hesitates here. "...worse."

"I...thought I could deal with her best...alone. I couldn't ask anyone else to see her like that unless there wasn't any other choice."

"Not even Willow?"

"What?"

"You could have taken Willow with you. She could have ensouled Buffy, like you, and--"

"I couldn't do that to her, Nina. You don't understand what it's like, being...like me."

Nina's face comes up. Tears are trickling down her face, but her eyes are furious. Illyria attempts to read her complex emotional state more directly. Learns nothing. "If anyone does, Angel, it'd be me, don't you think? Just because you're unique again, now that Spike's dead--is that it? Did you _let_ him die?"

"No, I--"

"You've always got to be alone. No one else is like you, no one understands? Bullshit, Angel!" Nina raises a hand, scrubs at her wet cheeks. "One day it's going to be me who's the problem. You know that, don't you? And you're not going to ask. You're not going to ask me or anyone, you're not going to look for options, you're just going to do whatever the hell you think is best, because it's all about Angel. Angel the Champion. Angel the hero who fixes everything."

Angel's mouth opens and closes. Illyria reads the spoor of half a dozen defenses forming, unforming. In the end he says nothing.

"Everyone you get involved with dies, Angel. Everyone. It's just a matter of time. If you want anyone in your life, ever again, you think on that. Think hard, and ask yourself why."

"What're you saying, Nina?"

Nina wraps herself in a raincoat. Opens the door. "Ask yourself who you really are." The door slams.

Illyria considers this. Judges herself to be in no danger.

She returns to perusing Fred's books.  
****  
 _Now._

It felt anathema. The bargaining, and the weapon in front of her face. Kennedy held the Scythe.

"They are nothing to me. They are as much vermin as yourselves. Give me what I ask and I will tell you the Gtterix' locations, and the simplest method of killing them."

A tall belligerent Slayer pressed forward through the crowd. "We don't need this thing, Ken. Just hack it to pieces and we go back to the plan."

"The Gtterix are nonsapient. They will not join in the assembly you speak of. They exist to devour and destroy."

"Then we can mop 'em up after--"

"Quiet." Kennedy lowered an arm in front of the confrontational Slayer. "What's it you want?"

"Give me Alexander Harris."

There was a moment of confused silence. A few seconds of laughter. Then Kennedy lowered the blade end of the Scythe at Illyria's chest.

_Skewed intersection._

_A timeslice that is not her own. A small figure in skins and grease paint. Whirring pincers that do not, have never belonged to Illyria. The Scythe bites deep..._

"We don't trade our people." Illyria had blinked. Kennedy must not have noticed before that Illyria does not do this. "Especially not to demons. This thing can kill even you. I'm under orders, but if you wanna give me a reason to break 'em...."

 _You've got a trump card,_ a spark whispered without being asked. "Alexander Harris is not one of your people. He is an informant. He will betray you."

"Really?" Kennedy smirked. "For you, huh?"

"For the half-breed calling itself Buffy Summers." Illyria raised an eyebrow in a manner she had seen Willow use. "He is under its thrall."

"Long as Buffy's out Slayin'," Kennedy averred, "we've got no problem with her."

"How long will she do so?" Illyria addressed the ranks of Slayers. "Is this vampire your ally? Do you trust her to guard your flanks?" A murmur of discomfort and confusion rose.

"In that case," growled Kennedy, "why the hell should we trust _you_?" The Scythe's blade pressed forward against Illyria's throat.

Illyria's lips curled into a mimicry of Kennedy's smirk. "Deception is beneath me."  
****  
 _Intersection: the beginning._

The Earth is one of many jewels sparkling in front of it. It touches the murky oceans with a tentacle. The scum flickers brightly in response. Amusing.

This toy belongs to Illyria, and Illyria alone. All of them do.

 _Keep away_ , whines a hooved and horned thing. _Mine._

 _Mine._ A ball of golden flame.

 _Mine._ A skittering length of plates and legs.

_Mine._

_Mine._

_Mine._  
****  
 _Now._

Such a pathetic thing. But she had come all this way for it. It must have been of some importance.

"You must be pretty upset with me, to come back here _under guard_ to kill me." He was being defensive, though he had nothing to defend.

"You assume much."

"Big Blue," Kennedy said, "claims you're under a vampire's thrall. Which makes you a spy. I don't really like spies, and I don't like weak-willed losers either."

"Spend some time with Dracula," Xander muttered. Then, more clearly: "Yeah. I'm sorry. I was just starting to figure it out."

"I don't get this," complained the belligerent one. "Where's the 'Dark Mistress' talk? Xander, you _hate_ Buffy."

His face became very cold and still. "No. I don't, Jaylynne. Sorry you weren't around in the good old days. What I hate is vampires. It's not her...I...I think." There was something of a fragile uncertainty about him, something Illyria had rarely noticed before. His voice broke, then steadied again. "I loved Buffy from the day I met her. Still do. She just happens to be dead. But there's a real good actor wearing her face as a mask."

"I still..." Kennedy moved the Scythe away from Illyria's neck a fraction of a centimeter, scowling. "I would've expected you to slip. Will always said you did with Drac."

Xander chuckled, a hollow, bitter sound devoid of mirth. "Drac's full of himself, and who'd blame the guy? I called him the Dark Prince because he liked it, and I knew he liked it. When I trashed Buffy, I wasn't faking. I was saying what she really thinks." He swallowed and looked down. "I said what she'd want to hear from me. She's an evil, disgusting thing. She doesn't...wouldn't ever want me to forget."

Some of the younger Slayers tittered nervously. "A vampire with self-esteem issues," one of them piped up. "Suddenly I get it."

Quite suddenly, Xander stood up straight and looked Kennedy in the eyes. "What do you think about vamps, Kennedy? Think you'd just for--I mean, think the fake you would be different? Or me? I never could figure out what Buffy saw in Angel or Spike, but she knew they were trying to be different. They were exceptions, or thought they were, and she got that. It doesn't mean she hadn't spent half her life training to kill things like 'em. You can't do that and not hate what you're killing, hate them down deep in the bones. Trust me on this. Buffy hates...hated vampires. All vampires. Still d....er, you know what I mean."

"You think I'd be like her?"

"No one's like Buffy. But...yeah, more or less. Vampires are demons. Hate's what they're good at."

Something chilly brushed across Kennedy's spine. Illyria raised an eyebrow. An interesting experience, and very nostalgic. "I think maybe you'd better take him," Kennedy said roughly. "Having some vampire thrall around...probably not good for morale. Just keep in mind, any friend of Willow's...."

"...is a friend of yours," Illyria finished, when Kennedy did not. "You have no cause for concern. Harming him offers me no amusement."

Kennedy studied her appraisingly. "You know, rumor had it, about you two...." Again, she failed to complete her sentence.

This time Illyria let it dangle. "Alexander will be safe with me. Malice from a mere human is no threat, not to a god. I will deliver him unharmed."

"So he's insignificant." For some reason, Kennedy seemed to be relieved.

"What save myself is not?"  
****  
 _Intersection: an ending._

A city, in flames. Illyria did not know what city; she had never cared to ask. Even the humans agreed that names hardly mattered any longer.

Buffy stood gazing at her atop the pile of ichor-smeared corpses, a look of sick triumph on her face. "Figured it'd come down to you and me." She hefted the Scythe. "Guess it's punishment for not believing in God. I keep having to fight them. But it's the last time now."

Illyria could feel the Scythe echoing at her, and ignored it. She was the last, aside from the Slayers; it seemed probable that their essence would fade without other demons to fight. She was the last. But also the greatest. She lunged, concentrating hard, trying to summon up some scrap of her power over time.

The Scythe came down, not in the manner she had expected at all, and something white-cold, a light, penetrated deep into her armor, and her shell. She was burning inside, still moving forward, carrying the weapon with her as the other end of it pierced deep into Buffy's heart. As Buffy had always intended. _They_ were the last.

Fire, and dust.  
****  
 _Now._

"You cut a deal," Alexander said, baffled. "I thought you didn't do that."

"Compromise is weakness," Illyria explained. "But I have...become weak already. I do not desire to remain weak." She studied him. "You were lucky. The half-breed's knee did you no lasting injury. We are pleased."

"Um, non with the sequitur there? I don't think I'm using that right, but...." His gait was awkward, but he was capable of walking. Still, he would not keep pace with her if she made haste. "Look, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to betray...well, Giles and Willow and the others."

She noticed the implication and set it firmly in mind. "You were under the sway of your former friend. And I am unperturbed by your betrayal of them." Perhaps he would espy hers as well.

"I figured that. You realize that's why you lost, right? You can't betray friends and expect to get away with it."

She estimated the level of force he would feel as roughness and gave his arm a tug. He grunted. "Keep moving. You betrayed them for your principles. Your strictures are filled with contradictions, as all such chains are. This is simply the human _method_ of betrayal, which is a constant." He did not respond to that. "You are as you are," she allowed. "I no longer take offense. To share a cosmos with such weak creatures annoys me, but I have grown accustomed."

"But it was you who came to get me." His breathing had become labored, and his legs were moving awkwardly. "I figured it'd be Willow, or Faith maybe. And not for a few more days. You found out about Buffy." She slowed her pace very slightly.

"Harmony and Anne had words with us."

"And Harmony didn't get dusted?" There was an unexpected knot in his stomach.

"It astonishes us that you care. No, she did not. She made overtures from a distance, with one of your devices."

"I shouldn't care. I...I don't care, not about her."

Illyria attempted a human verbal game. "Perhaps you are only bothered because you are bothered?"

He made a face at her. "I hate it when you say things like that about yourself. Rather you don't start on me. You still haven't explained why you came for me."

"I am unobliged to explain myself to you, but surely I have made my interest plain."

His wheezing was laughter, his laughter wheezing. He ceased moving and sat down on the sidewalk. "Oh, god, no. Not again. You're not joking, are you? I thought you were just making some kind of, some kind of experiment."

Illyria crouched easily beside him. "I have spoken to your friends of this, but it is nothing I comprehend myself. I find your company agreeable, yet can find no reason for such behavior. Are you unwell?"

"I'll...I'll be all right." His spasming began to subside. "She-mantises. Vengeance demons. Mummies. Now this." He did not get up.

Illyria came to a difficult decision. "Do you have coin?" He only stared at her. "I shall summon transport."  
****  
 _Intersection: an ending._

Three suns rising. Illyria does not stop to look back at them. Some of those she has liberated do. "This is not the time for stargazing. We must hurry." Not even the shell ever really knew whether Pylea's suns were stars. Nor did she know whether Pylea was a sphere, or what lay beyond this ocean in the south. The Americans may, though Illyria does not believe they have physically explored farther than the coastline.

This is not an army. It is a band of refugees--Brackens, Deathwoks, Anomovics, others--and she is uncertain how to organize them.

"We must reach the ship." There is a stolen hovercraft awaiting them on the beach. Taking it out of sight of land is risky. Not that any of them care, her least of all. The Deeper Well was humiliation enough; that humans could have imprisoned her, however briefly, fills her with rage and shame.

"They will seek me above all others," she tells an emaciated M'Fashnik at the water's edge. "I will remain here and engage them in combat. For your own safety, go now." Her escape will have triggered a maximal response.

A dozen pairs of hands seize her. She could shake them off with but a thought.... "We ain't leavin' you," the M'Fashnik tells her. "Not to the gov'mint, an' sure as hell not to that bitch they're list'nin' to now." "Eve", the government has designated "that bitch", for reasons Illyria has only recently learned. Names are unimportant; the girl in question is Buffy Summers. Illyria allows them to draw her into the craft.

Twenty-three hours have passed when she hears a crackling from above, followed by a whistling sound. A jet vanishes back into the portal high overhead; the object it has dropped does not. Her own code name is Hostile Omega.

Fire, and ash.  
****  
 _Now._

Illyria pointedly did not fasten the restraints. Fortunately, the driver ignored the petty rules of this age and sped away. This vehicle was even more confining than the minivan had been. It was a wonder she could move her mouth to speak.

"You could've packed me," Alexander suggested.

"That would have displeased you," Illyria noted in response. "Though in truth, you seem displeased with all my works. And no, I do not understand why that should concern me."

"But it does." The notion disturbed and confused him. She could relate, which disturbed and confused her even more.

"You call me self-possessed. But not since waking have I felt I owned myself. My responses are mine, yet not." Humans sometimes attempted humor to defuse tension. Perhaps...? "I sometimes suspect that I am only a pale copy of my glory. A shadow. That I am but a human being which believes itself to be Illyria."

"No way you're human, Il...lyria. And there's no good way to shorten that, is there?"

"Your reassurance, though feeble, is appreciated. And do not attempt to alter my name again."

"For something that had to have its arm twisted to use other folks' names, you seem touchy about your own."

Could it really be that he did not understand? "Do you name motes of dust? To call a thing by its name is to acknowledge it. To empower it. You hurl names about so cavalierly that, had you any real power of your own, the world of things would shake itself, rouse, and fling you aside."

He blinked. "So it's a 'don't speak Latin in front of the books' kind of thing?"

"Since my words go unheard unless I use your names, I use them, Alexander." That had the desired effect, except that it also made him shy away from her again. But everything she did made him do that.

He stared at the cab's floorboards. "Look...I'm flattered...okay? And I ought to be used to this sort of thing by now. Demon chicks dig Xander Harris. But it doesn't work the other way 'round."

"We know well of your lust for this body."

" _So_ not the point. It's not that simple for humans. I don't love you, Illyria. I can't love you. I just want to find a nice human girl, settle down...maybe have a rugrat or two. I can't do that with a demon. It just doesn't work, I've seen it." His speech grew more rapid as he continued. "Mostly because you don't and can't love us, either. These things don't end well."

"You seek to conceal something from me. Explain to me why your desire for this body is not the point." That appeared not to be the locus of his secret, but it was interwoven somehow, a web that reached deep into his thoughts.

"Because it's _not_ your body, damn it! It's not yours!" Anger gave way to desperation as he realized that he had begun shouting, at her, in an enclosed space. Not that he could have escaped her. "You killed Fred, some girl I never knew but who everyone tells me was sweet and wonderful, you _ate_ her and she's gone, and you have the damn nerve to act like people thinking you're hot means they're attracted to _you_! You're not pretty, Fred was pretty, you're some slimy tentacled thing and nobody, _nobody_ is ever going to love you! So just break my goddam neck already!" He slumped forward in the seat. "It's a frickin' curse," he muttered.

"To harm you would serve no purpose," Illyria said patiently. "What is a curse?"

"Demons fall all over themselves for me. Like I said...mummies, vampires, the works. Hell, I had Drusilla swooning over me one time, even if that was just a love spell. Most of them want to eat my eyes or my brains or something, but they always say they really love me...in whatever way they love anyone. But if I ever really fall for some human girl...she dies. She turns into a demon and she dies. Not necessarily in that order. Cordy. Anya. And now Buffy. For all I know, maybe Fred was meant for me, and that's why you got her."

"That is...unlikely. And irrational And, if so, the girls you had relations with in past weeks are in mortal danger on your account."

He waved it away. "I told myself, maybe if they were totally out of the loop on the supernatural, maybe it couldn't get them. But you know, I think the truth was...we didn't have it. And I knew, on some level, we didn't. Which meant they were safe."

Illyria searched for some means of understanding that. "I believe that can only be called...'insane troll logic'. And I had no knowledge that you had ever been engaged with the Slayer."

"Engaged...?"

Human languages had an overabundance of double meanings. "Involved. In a relationship."

"We haven't. I had a crush on her...even loved her...but I was only ever just a friend to her."

"Then what has happened to her cannot be your doing. And this...'house of cards' you have created, with only two remaining examples, crumbles."

"Do you think I don't know that?" He glares up at her. "It's not about what I'm thinking. It's what I feel. And you will never, ever understand what it's like, so quit pretending."  
****  
 _Intersection: an ending._

Cleveland, in turmoil. "I _told_ them it was too late to slay Buffy now," said the red-haired witch. The tunnels were jammed so tightly that not even the two of them could easily clear a path.

"The world you knew has been ending for some time," Illyria agreed. "The death of one girl could hardly have prevented that." Willow did not answer, only attempted to shape the energy shield into a wedge which would allow them to press forward. The Slayers were somewhere deeper in, but they would not be enough now. Perhaps nothing would be enough.

The vampire whose head she crushed had a soul. All of them did; the Popular Alliance of Reborn Aurelius did not admit the unsouled. Together the pair of them struggled forward through a mass of slogan-bearing t-shirts. "This is the law: we are not men" competed with "Beware the beast Man" and "Zipacna/Tezcatlipoca 2012". Many of the rabble sang or ranted as they fought. "...from the grave, for me-e-e," belted out a girl whose shirt depicted a marked-out cross with the caption: "Torture Device"; "One day when I was lost, they hung him on the cross..." A man whose shirt read "I am become Death" was chanting, "I see all people rushing into your mouths as into a blazing fire...."

"Is it just me," Willow muttered, "or is the apocalypse becoming way too commercial?"

"In my experience, whatever happens frequently is treated this way by the people of this era," Illyria said with a shrug. "I have three t-shirts which say 'I was at the end of the world--'" The witch began to laugh so hard she nearly lost control of her force field. "Concentrate."

"Sorry. Trying not to cry, which leaves the laughing."

Ahead of them a chant rose from the crowd. "Humans go to hell! Humans go to hell!"

"At least no one is shouting 'Trick lives'," Illyria observed. The vampire was known to have been deceased well before the presidential assasination, but Osiris seemed to be sleeping on the job in recent years. If they survived this, she would have to have a word with him. Especially if the rumors were correct.

"Trick lives," someone said from in front of them, and the crowd parted. "Humanity can fry."

"Gabriel," Willow said. "I don't understand."

"All we wanted," Michelle answered for him, "was to be invited back in." Her face wavered between demonic and human features. "You have no idea how much we paid for that." The ground shuddered.

"Humanity's had its chance to prove it was really better than us," Gabriel snapped, "that it wasn't all just propaganda. Now we know the truth."

A group of cultists appeared behind the pair, dragging Slayers wreathed in chains. Willow started forward, a hand raised, and at that moment the earth cracked open, erupting in a torrent of flame. Tentacles followed. Willow turned towards the gap, chanting, but the voices of others drowned her out, the many overriding the one.

Illyria took a step towards the chasm. She had no illusions that she could defeat her former acquaintances, not as she was. Nor that they would greet her as an equal.

But perhaps they would do an old friend the favor of eating her first.

Fire, and brimstone.  
****  
 _Now._

Kate's office.

"They told me this place burned down," Alexander said. "Somebody firebombed it."

Illyria spoke more to herself than to him. "A shell, once empty, is worthless to the owner. It would have been repaired or rebuilt." She offered him a hand to escape the taxi and was surprised when he accepted her aid. But, once standing, he immediately let go.

"I shouldn't have shouted at you," he muttered. "I'm sorry."

"But you can feel nothing for me."

"Yeah. Sorry. Again."

"Your kind often say they cannot feel for demons. They then explain their inability by saying that demons cannot feel for them, or at all." He did not respond. "If symmetry is truly present, why do you hold demons to account, but not yourselves?"

"We should go on in. They'll be worried."

She tried another approach. "Do you truly desire that I should give up human seeming?"

"Be easier to kill you."

Illyria understood and ignored his meaning. "No. It would not."

"Not what I meant."

"You blame me both for being what I am, and for attempting to be otherwise."

"Life isn't fair. Get used to it. I can't give you what you're after. That's all." He walked away toward the entrance.

If he indeed had the key to power, he would not relinquish it to her.

Not in any eon had Illyria ever willingly given up. Not hope, not life, not power, not one square inch of territory. Even her long sleep had been an act of desperate endurance and patience. "That is not dead which can eternal lie," as the humans said. She would not give up now.

But no matter which way she turned, no matter what lifepath she looked down into her future, every ending was the same.

The fire was coming.


	29. Haven: Disturb the Universe Act I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, another script chapter in need of revision.

TEASER

INT. ATRIUM -- NIGHT

This is the lobby of Hagaanah P.I., its red "avenging demon" logo painted on the wall above. People are milling about--dancing, eating, talking. Loud, jazzy music is playing.

MARA, the rogue vengeance demon, is sitting in one of the lobby chairs with a group of children gathered round; she is reading aloud from a book. Several of the children are wide-eyed, a little afraid. One of them has red, scaly skin and the horns of an ANOMOVIC demon.

MARA: ...the farmer sagged down against the gigantic table leg. "We have made our bed," he said, "and now we must lie in it." But his wife answered, "If you don't like the way your bed is made, get up and make it again. We have one wish left."

The little ANOMOVIC GIRL cheers.

PAN across dancing people.

ANGEL is standing against the wall, tapping his feet nervously. BRITTANY is watching him, holding a glass of something.

ANGEL: Last time I was at an office party I ended up having involuntary mystical sex with a Child of the Senior Partners.

BRITTANY (smirking): I heard. Sounds like it was terrible. (pause) If that's what you're afraid of, I don't think the Partners have any kids here. Is that what you're afraid of?

ANGEL: Well, no. I just...something's going to go wrong.

BRITTANY: They tell me you can't dance. Kind of odd, considering what a party animal you're supposed to have been back in the day.

ANGEL (looking trapped): I was more the getting-into-fights type.

BRITTANY: Over what? Women? People stealing your ale? Speaking of which, why aren't you drinking anything?

ANGEL: I'm still sort of getting used to being human again. Harder to hold the beer. I had one glass a while back.

BRITTANY: I guess that's a start. Now you need someone to flirt with.

PAN across dancing people.

ANDREW is dancing wildly and goofily; several people, including PHIL and NOVEMBER, are watching him go. PHIL is wearing an amused grin. NOVEMBER's attention seems to be elsewhere, though; she's frowning and staring at her canned soda.

PHIL: I'm kinda wondering what the big deal is. These demons don't seem so bad.

NOVEMBER (with a snort): That's the trouble. Interspecies harmony. Only, we don't get to live in the Federation. Forgettin' that doesn't do us any good.

PHIL: Well, why can't we? Live in the Federation, I mean.

NOVEMBER: Because come tomorrow, these guys or somethin' like 'em'll be wanting to eat your brains, or suck your blood or your bone marrow or something. It's a nice dream, but it never lasts.

A horned RED DEMON who resembles Sweet appears from the crowd and does a series of steps. ANDREW watches closely and imitates him, then adds a flourish.

PHIL: Uh-oh.

NOVEMBER: What?

PHIL: I better not have to break this up.

The RED DEMON goes through a more elaborate version of the steps, which ANDREW matches again. The crowd begins to hoot and holler.

NOVEMBER: See? I told you. There's no such thing as peace, not in this neck of the galaxy. vaj tlhIngan jIH.

PHIL: There doesn't have to be a fight.

NOVEMBER: Says who? I'm tellin' you, the only thing that can keep the peace long in a group like this is a sanctuary spell.

PHIL: Sanctu-what?

NOVEMBER: Not that they work that well.

PAN across dancing people, back to ANGEL and BRITTANY

BRITTANY: The way I see it, you're still afraid to let loose.

ANGEL: You're the one who said I still had Angelus in me.

BRITTANY: Angel. I'm a Slayer in a room full of demons. But the only reason I'm not on the dance floor is that I saw you standing around looking lost. You don't have to--

HAGAANAH appears out of the crowd, leading a WOMAN in thick glasses and practical, unattractive brown slacks and blouse.

HAGAANAH (enthusiastically): Angel! I knew I could get you out to the party! You guys were such a help last time I saw you, and I took your advice. This's Kirstin, our new human-affairs liason.

KIRSTIN (bored and uncomfortable): It's really loud in here. Nice to meet you...Angel? November? (offers her hand to each of them in turn)

BRITTANY: I'm Brittany. Nov's....out there somewhere. (She gestures toward the center of the lobby.)

KIRSTIN: I really would rather get back to my work, Hagaanah. This place's giving me a headache, and I've got this paper I'm trying to write.

HAGAANAH (disappointed): If that's what you want. Go on.

KIRSTIN squints through her glasses at ANGEL and hurries away.

BRITTANY: She seems like your type, Angel. You know, withdrawn, emotionally inaccessible...that sort of thing.

ANGEL: What?! No! I'm just...tense, that's all.

HAGAANAH: Am I interrupting something?

ANGEL: No, no, not at all. Brittany was just going back to dance some more.

BRITTANY: I was not!

HAGAANAH: Look, guys, I don't want to get in the middle of this. But I wanted to tell you, Angel, Mara's picking up some unusual dimensional activity down in the subway tunnels. You were talking about being suspicious of the Railroad...um, the vampires who're leaving town. Had this idea you might want to take a look.

ANGEL: Portals?

HAGAANAH (scratching his left horn): Probably. Quite a few at that. And not on a recognized transit site. If those vamps are being scammed, I figured you'd want to know, help 'em out, right?

ANGEL: Er... (BRITTANY elbows him in the ribs)...sure, why not? Give me a location before we leave and, uh, my Slayer can look into it.

BRITTANY: I'm going nowhere without my Watcher. I mean, hell, who knows where those portals might lead? Someone'll have to help me look up references on demon dimensions.

HAGAANAH (wearing a baffled expression): I had you pegged as the smart one of the pair, Britt. No offense, Ang, but I thought you did the combat thing.

BRITTANY: Angel's just an all-around go-to guy when it comes to helping people out. Believe it or not, he's got a photographic memory. We'll go down there together, see what we find out. And if there's anyone in trouble...we'll give them a hand.

A thrown chair goes flying between them and the camera. Close on their looks of shock.

THEME PLAYS, CREDITS ROLL

Theme: "Savin' Me" (second verse), by Nickelback

Starring:  
Tom Lenk as Andrew Wells  
Jenna Edwards as November Hall  
Rachel Billings as Brittany Morgan  
Alona Tal as Michelle Foust  
Percy Daggs III as Gabriel Keller  
and David Boreanaz as Angel

Guest-starring:  
Marc Blucas as Riley Finn  
Rutger Hauer as General Voll  
Jared Padalecki as Phil  
Robert Englund as Hagaanah  
Gigi Edgley as Mara  
Claudia Black as Kirstin Conway

ACT I

EXT. CITY STREET -- NIGHT

ANGEL is driving his convertible, top-down, through light traffic, with BRITTANY riding shotgun; NOVEMBER is squeezed in between them, looking sullen. ANDREW and PHIL are in the back seat; ANDREW has a bandage on his head.

BRITTANY: I can't believe you threw a chair at that guy.

NOVEMBER: Wasn't a guy. It was an evil dancing demon. He was probably going to set my Watcher on fire.

ANDREW: We were having a good time. Okay...maybe I got a little carried away. Say, was anyone filming that?

PHIL: I thought you were pretty much on fire already, but that's just me.

BRITTANY: Angel, did you hear anyone singing? About feelings or secrets, maybe?

ANGEL (a bit startled): What? God no. There was that instrumental stuff--I'd say maybe from the seventies--but....

BRITTANY: See, if anyone had summoned that guy to wreak havoc, there'd have been singing. He dropped by to have some fun. I heard Hagaanah helped him settle some sort of custody case. Too many wives, if you ask me.

NOVEMBER: Wives? You mean queens. I told you--evil.

PHIL (mild sarcasm): Do enslaved fake wives fight over custody of the kids, November? (hesitates, looking around) They don't, do they?

ANGEL: Not that I've heard. What's this about singing and feelings?

BRITTANY: Nothing you'd know anything about, I'm sure.

It begins to sprinkle rain. ANGEL ignores it, leaving the top down, and makes a left.

BRITTANY: Anyway, Nov, the long and the short of it is, you picked a fight when you didn't have to, upset our host, and nearly ruined the whole party. You're lucky Keith just asked us to leave.

NOVEMBER: (bored) We shouldn't've been there anyway. It's one thing to work with demons when you have to. Tryin' to get along with 'em is something else. I don't get you, Britt. You're always acting like it's somethin' bad to fight what we were made to fight. We're Slayers. We slay. Might as well enjoy it.

They've plainly had this conversation many times before. It begins to rain a little harder. ANDREW frowns and looks as if he's going to say something, but BRITTANY speaks over him.

BRITTANY: (deadpan, perfectly reasonable) You could be right, I guess. We're killers. It's in our nature. No reason to feel guilty about killing. Hey, Angel, let's go on a killing spree with Nov. You used to like those, right?

ANGEL: (exasperated) Don't start that "we're all killers" thing with me. You know who you sound like? Spike, before he got his soul.

BRITTANY: Well, yeah. I'd say you were missing the point if you hadn't practically repeated it verbatim.

ANGEL is about to say something else when the sky opens up and begins pouring cold rain into the car. Everyone shouts and cowers a little, even ANGEL, who sheepishly raises the top.

ANGEL: Didn't use to worry about that sort of thing.

PHIL: Don't vampires care about mildew?

INT. APARTMENT HALLWAY -- NIGHT

The group is making its way along the hallway towards their apartments, soaking wet and shivering. A DELIVERYMAN is waiting at the door to ANGEL's apartment with a very large package--nearly four feet tall.

DELIVERYMAN: Would one of you people be a Mr....um, Geraldo Angel?

ANGEL: (startled) That's me. That thing's for me?

DELIVERYMAN: (skeptical) It is if you're Geraldo Angel. (holding out an electronic pad and pen) Sign here.

ANGEL: (signs it) Who sent me this?

DELIVERYMAN: Fellow named Lorne Greene, apparently. He said you'd know something about a joke, and asked that it be brought to you today at this hour.

ANGEL: (still taken aback) He, uh, gets a lot of ribbing about his name. We haven't spoken in a while.

DELIVERYMAN: Wouldn't know anything about that, sir. Have a nice day.

Exit DELIVERYMAN.

NOVEMBER: Need help getting that inside?

ANGEL: No, I...(he looks at the package again and reconsiders)...probably do. Thanks.

PHIL: Lorne Greene? The comedian?

ANDREW (pretentiously): Krevlornswath of the Deathwok Clan, former host of Caritas, the karaoke bar. He used to be one of Angel's closest friends until they had a falling-out.

ANGEL: He's a demon. And green. I think he figured "Lorne" was the most normal-sounding part of his name in California--didn't know anything about the comedian yet. Thus the jokes.

BRITTANY: (trying not to laugh) In Los Angeles? He could've gone by Krevlornswath. Nobody'd have cared.

ANGEL opens the door, and BRITTANY and NOVEMBER lift and carry the box into his apartment.

INT. ANGEL'S APARTMENT -- NIGHT

ANGEL's apartment is almost as bare and spartan as we last saw it, but a Matisse print has been hung on the wall facing his bed. PHIL examines it as they enter; the room is a bit crowded.

PHIL: Good taste.

ANGEL: Thanks. 

He enters the kitchen and comes back with a knife, which he uses to open the package. He reaches in and pulls out a note.

ANGEL: (reading) "Angelface--"

PHIL raises an eyebrow.

ANGEL: (reading) "--I wish I could say I regretted running out on you guys after what happened, but I don't. My being with wouldn't have made any difference, and you know it. But you've been showing up in a lot of folks' auras lately, and I think you're going to need this. Use it in good health. All my best."

NOVEMBER lifts out a sleek piece of electronic equipment from the box.

PHIL: It looks like some kind of sound mixer.

ANGEL: (thoroughly confused) It's Lorne's karaoke machine.

ANDREW: (a little excited) Hey, I think I saw this one on the Twilight Zone once. (stops, deflating) No...wait. Not really.

NOVEMBER: Why would Lorne think you needed his karaoke machine? (She examines the microphone.)

ANGEL: Beats me.

BRITTANY: He read people's destinies, right? If you were in their auras, like he said, then maybe he has a good reason.

BRITTANY plugs in the machine and checks the settings, then turns it on. The tune to the Eagles' "Desperado" begins to play. ANGEL looks blankly at the device. He reaches over and turns it off.

ANGEL: Anyone want to dry off? Got towels.

ANDREW: We're gonna have to go back out in the rain anyway.

NOVEMBER: I'll bite.

She holds out her hand for a towel; ANGEL makes as if to go get them.

BRITTANY: We're just down the hallway. I don't want to drip all over your floor, though, so if you want me to stay a while I'll take one.

ANGEL steps into the bathroom and comes back with a couple of towels; he hands one to NOVEMBER and begins drying off with the other. BRITTANY gives him a questioning look.

ANGEL: Any tunes you want to listen to? Weapons you'd like to practice with? Favorite TV shows?

BRITTANY turns on the karaoke machine again and glances at the screen; the tune begins where it left off. She begins singing softly along; though her voice is nothing to write home about, she's on key and knows how to convey a mood.

BRITTANY (gently): ...oh, you ain't gettin' no younger; your pain and your hunger, they're drivin' you on....

ANGEL turns off the machine a second time.

BRITTANY: Think Lorne left it on that song at random?

ANGEL: I don't need to be analyzed. Who's the Watcher here anyway?

BRITTANY gives him an enigmatic look.

ANDREW: We should probably, um, get going. 

He gestures at NOVEMBER and PHIL to come on and heads for the door. NOVEMBER tosses her towel onto the bed.

ANGEL (to BRITTANY): You too.

For a moment BRITTANY seems ready to stare him down. Then, instead, she turns wordlessly and follows the others into the hall.

Still dressed, ANGEL turns off the lights and lies down on the bed, watching the ceiling.

CUT TO

INT. HALLWAY -- NIGHT

BRITTANY stalks off down the hallway toward her room, while NOVEMBER, PHIL, and ANDREW trail along more slowly; we follow the latter.

NOVEMBER: I don't get her. She broods just as much as he does, but when he does it she gets upset.

PHIL: I thought he brooded because he was a vampire.

ANDREW (theatrically): Our dark and mysterious hero discovers at last what he was searching for, only to find the prize...unfulfilling. Peace eludes him.

NOVEMBER: Well, it's not like he can go back! What would he do, let someone turn him?

ANDREW (normal voice, very slightly alarmed): That'd make him Angelus again. He'd have to be crazy to do that.

PHIL: They couldn't re-ensoul him...um, again?

ANDREW: I guess. But it could fail. He'd never risk that. Besides, to give up on the hero's quest for redemption, to let go of his tortured soul...it's just not Angel.

NOVEMBER (thoughtful): Kinda afraid you might be right.

PHIL: You mean after a century of being tormented guy, he doesn't know what else to do? (The others look at him worriedly.) Ouch.

ANDREW: And anyway, it's like he's switched places with Buffy. Only she's still a Slayer, too, and he's...well, not. He's basically got nothing left to fight with.

NOVEMBER: He's got mad combat skills.

ANDREW (shaking his head): You haven't seen her. It'd be like fighting a soul-eater, only twice as strong or more--ever seen one of those? Maybe you could do it, but not an ordinary human by himself.

NOVEMBER: I still don't understand why we don't just turn her loose. Then we can gang up on her later when they're all dead.

PHIL winces, and ANDREW looks uncomfortable.

ANDREW: Dungeons and Dragons, first edition.

NOVEMBER: I've played, but what about it?

ANDREW: Orcs were always chaotic evil back then. Not usually, the way it's set up now--always. That way the players had something to level up against and they didn't have to worry about things like being killers.

NOVEMBER (grinning): Sounds like the life.

ANDREW: Didn't take long till a lot of gamers were torturing orcs. Raiding orc villages, taking everything, killing the females and the kids. Hero or villain? How to tell? Everything the orcs were supposed to be, their characters became--just against orcs instead of humans. Okay, the advancement structure had something to do with it, but....if the only difference between good and evil is who's killing who, does it really matter any more which side you're on?

NOVEMBER (annoyed): Now you sound like Britt. Only, she doesn't talk about orcs. She just says it right out.

PHIL: Is she wrong?

NOVEMBER: This isn't a game. It's life. We can't change the rules. If being a paladin's gonna make me some kind of stone-cold killer--and I don't see why it has to--then that's just what'll have to happen.

ANDREW: When they're gone--when it's you who can't be a champion anymore--will you know how to stop?

CUT TO

INT. ABANDONED APARTMENT-- NIGHT

MICHELLE (closeup): I won't do it.

Cut to reveal MICHELLE and GABRIEL in a fire-damaged apartment. A sleeping bag has been rolled out over the room's king-sized bed. A pair of duffels lies near the blackened remains of a cabinet. MICHELLE is leaning against a wall while GABRIEL sits on the bed.

MICHELLE: I mean, am I not weak enough for you yet? You have to defang and declaw me too? You keep telling me how dangerous the world is, but you won't let me be strong enough to face it.

GABRIEL: It's not like that! I'm...I'm afraid of what you'll do. I don't want you hurting people.

MICHELLE (upset): Do I look like I can hurt anybody? I'm practically a wet noodle here. (She flexes a frail-looking arm.)

GABRIEL: I know. I want you to get well, hon. I just still want other people to be safe around you when you are.

MICHELLE: If you want me to get well, feed me something real, or let me hunt it myself. This weaksauce crap you keep bringing me doesn't cut it, Gabe, not for someone in my place. I could be like this for years.

GABRIEL: You want to bring those Slayers down on us? They will kill you. They won't hesitate any more than you would at killing a human. To them, we're vermin. And that's not even counting what'll happen if Buffy shows up in town. I'm not afraid she'll kill you. I'm afraid she won't.

MICHELLE (her face crumpling): Why'd you do this to me? Why'd you bring me back like this if I'm not good enough for you? I mean, hell, I'm freaking out about something I didn't even believe in before. Why's it so important to you to give me one?

GABRIEL (very softly): I didn't love you. I left you in a coma for five years, because I didn't love you any more.

MICHELLE (as if this had never crossed her mind): Oh. (She hesitates, then sidles over and sits down beside him.) So it's not that you're afraid I'll kill someone, or get killed. You're upset because you're afraid I can't love you. (She puts an arm around him, fingers dangling near his collarbone.)

GABRIEL (softly): Yes.

MICHELLE (gently): Gabriel...do you have any idea...(growing harsher)...how pissed at you I am? (Her fingernails dig bleeding furrows into the front of his shoulder.) But I haven't tried to get away from you, have I? Except that first couple of times, just to eat, and you wouldn't let me. You're a smart man, Gabe, but not so smart I couldn't escape if I put my mind to it. (She bends down to suckle from the wounds on his shoulder, then looks up at him.) You do sleep, after all. If I didn't love you, I'd be gone by now.

GABRIEL (not entirely convinced): There is that. Yeah.

MICHELLE: Here's the deal. That Angel guy, you remember how upset he was? He was like you, and it's driving him (with a wink) batty that anyone else wants to be that way. That it's even possible, I mean. We'll talk to him about it and find out why it bothers him so much.

GABRIEL: I heard there was some kind of prophecy about him. That's why he was saying he was supposed to be the only one. But he was also sure you needed a soul if we were going to be together.

MICHELLE (dismissively): Prophecies now too? Maybe he's just jealous. On the other hand, maybe there's something really wrong. Maybe there's some kind of natural...or, um, supernatural law that says this soul business isn't supposed to happen. If that's how it is, you stop bothering me about it and find me someone to eat. (GABRIEL starts to protest.) Take it or leave it.

GABRIEL: All right. You've got a deal.

MICHELLE (grins broadly): I still want to see how he tastes.

CUT TO  
INT. BASE HALLWAY -- NIGHT

RILEY is walking down an institutionally-cold corridor. Although most of the personnel passing him are in military uniforms, he is wearing civilian motorcycle gear and appears lost in thought.

VOLL (off-screen): Finn.

GENERAL VOLL appears from a side doorway as RILEY pauses.

RILEY: Yes, sir, can I help you, sir?

They continue down the hallway.

VOLL: I have a few concerns I'm hoping you can look into. First, the re-appearance of Hostile Alpha is problematic. Since you've encountered him on neutral terms before, I'm hoping you can meet with him and get a sense of what's going on. I don't believe for a second he's what he seems to be now; that just doesn't happen.

RILEY: I'll see what I can learn, sir. Any suggestions on how to make contact?

VOLL: In a moment. Second, the theft issue still hasn't been resolved. These are sensitive materials, Finn, and we need to retrieve them. I'm giving you a blank check on that.

RILEY: I won't let you down, General.

VOLL: Thirdly, and most importantly, we're detecting unaccounted-for dimensional activity at sewer level. We can't have hostile cultists working out how to cross between worlds on their own. Even if it's some outside party, that's too great a risk, and it might possibly be a cult faction already. It could also be the Directorate running some side op; I always said they'd turn on us eventually.

RILEY: And we can't let them outflank us.

VOLL: Exactly. I've been deliberately leaking information on the situation to Hostile Alpha. Given his past behavior, I expect he'll investigate these breaches. Meet up with him and keep an eye on him. (with a heavy sigh) I don't suppose you understand them, Finn. You've dealt with them up close. We know some of the hostiles aren't just animals. They're intelligent and adaptable. What compels them to attack us? Why are they always so certain they're some kind of master race?

RILEY (after a moment's silence): I'm sorry, sir, I wouldn't know.

FADE TO BLACK

END ACT I


	30. Haven: Disturb the Universe Act II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not leaving it as script--got too many complaints over the years.

ACT II

INT. SEWER -- DAY

Somewhere deep under the city, an INSECTOID DEMON stalks through a makeshift nest in the sewers. We've seen its kind before--it's from the world that worshipped Jasmine. Chained to the wall are several VAMPIRES, their chests hacked crudely open.

INSECT DEMON: Kkkk. Why silent, creatures? You obeys, I let you go. Talk for me.

The nearest VAMPIRE, a young-looking blond man, spits blood in the DEMON's face.

INSECT DEMON (wiping off the blood): Not time for magic. Kk. Is time for talky. You not tell me, I go gets more.

REDHEADED VAMP GIRL (derisive): Yeah, like that'll make us tell you anything.

BLOND VAMP GUY (sarcastic): You sure know a lot about vampires, dontcha?

INSECT DEMON: Not expecting you tell me for that. Not talk, I make as...aesthetic sculpture of you. Find out how many heads of five-headed dead thing must cut off to kills it.

REDHEADED VAMP: Hey, let's not get hasty, okay? I don't know where he is, but you let me go, I'll find him for ya. I swear.

INSECT DEMON: Kkk. (tilts his head) How you do that, dead thing? Tell me. Maybe I does it myself.

Several vampires break into pained laughter.

ELDERLY MALE VAMPIRE: Yeah, you do that, son. Go hunt 'round in the bars. See how far you get.

CUT TO

INT. ANGEL'S APARTMENT -- DAY

ANGEL is asleep. His eyelids move as if he were dreaming, then open. Indistinct angry voices are coming from somewhere offscreen. He groans and looks at the alarm clock, which reads 10:22 AM. Almost no light is coming in through the window, though. He shakes himself awake and climbs out of bed and into some clothes, then goes to the door.

INT. HALLWAY -- DAY

MICHELLE and GABRIEL, holding very wet raincoats, are arguing with BRITTANY just outside the apartment. A steady patter of rain can be heard as well.

MICHELLE: ...came out here to talk to him, and we mean to talk to him!

BRITTANY: Well, you can do it when he's...awake...Angel. Morning. Got back from class and found these two here.

ANGEL (mildly puzzled): It's the middle of the morning.

GABRIEL: It's also fall in Chicago. Pouring down rain out there. You lived in L.A. too long. Anyone ever tell you you had a death wish?

ANGEL: Don't think I have anything to say to you. Especially not her. (looking at MICHELLE)

MICHELLE: Is being rude to vampires part of the curse, or is that just you?

ANGEL: The curse isn't something I have to worry about any more.

MICHELLE: Well then--

GABRIEL: Then what was eating you the other day at the warehouse? Those people look up to you, but you couldn't be bothered to hang around or even check up on 'em.

ANGEL: What they're looking for, I can't give them.

MICHELLE: So you're saying it's bad that they have souls, they're not supposed to. Good, thanks, and--

ANGEL: Well, I mean--it's a good thing for the world, I guess. Or could be, but.... Look, there was a prophecy, okay? About a vampire, one vampire with a soul, who was going to become human. I don't...I can't offer you anything like that. It's not easy, is it, Gabriel? You're still a vampire. You still want blood, you still like violence, you just feel bad about it.

GABRIEL: You're afraid we're going to snap.

ANGEL (shrugging) : Done that a time or two myself.

MICHELLE: So it's better this way. (She edges away down the hall.)

BRITTANY (cutting in and moving into MICHELLE's path): It's actually a pretty funny sort of prophecy. I mean, at least two of the sections are spells that made themselves come true, and the part Angel's talking about isn't even the main point, just sort of an epilogue.

GABRIEL: What's the rest of it about, then?

BRITTANY: Kinda odd...I'm not sure we ever found that out. And then there was this whole other set of prophecies that depended on that one, and it's like they both...fizzled. I mean, prophecies usually have a focal point, don't they?

ANGEL: They didn't fizzle. There were apocalypses. Multiple apocalypses. That's what they were about. The Tro-Clon, and--

BRITTANY: And some sort of weird aftermath thing about killing a demon named Sahjhan. And a battle with a demonic army that Wolfram and Hart didn't have any real use for, that you admitted yourself didn't touch the Senior Partners at all. I'm sort of searching for the "saving humanity" part there....um, nope. Senior Partners still on the loose, owning the world and rebuilding their law firm.

MICHELLE (smirking): Humanity's always needing to be saved.

ANGEL: She has a point. I mean, there's always another apocalypse. The world doesn't just stop. Well, unless we lose.

BRITTANY: Another apocalypse. But not the apocalypse, Wolfram and Hart's apocalypse. Or did I get that part wrong?

ANGEL: Then why did I become human? The Powers said it outright: this is my reward.

MICHELLE: This doesn't have anything to do with me, does it? Because if not, I can-- (BRITTANY stays in her way)

BRITTANY: You know, that's probably the best question so far. (Her tone becomes oddly ironic.) No, it's got nothing to do with you. Angel's supposed to protect humanity, not vampires. So get lost. It's not appropriate to take the children's food and throw it to the dogs.

ANGEL: Now wait just a second--

BRITTANY: Is it?

ANGEL: You're making me out to be--I don't know what you're trying to say.

BRITTANY: They don't write prophecies about unimportant people, Angel. Prophecies are about either saviors, or monsters. It sounds as if this one lets you take your pick. If you're uncomfortable with Bible passages, I can probably make the same point from the Koran or the Bhagavad Gita. I'm not choosy.

ANGEL: Whatever I was supposed to do, Britt, I've done it already. I mean, I must have. I'm not denying that...we were all victims once. But I don't know what to do about that. I don't know that there's anything that can be done. I saw the way those cultists reacted to me, Brittany, and it scares me because they think I'm something I'm not. I can't help them. What exactly are you expecting me to do?

BRITTANY: Try.

MICHELLE: If nobody's going to say anything I can make sense of--

GABRIEL abruptly spins and wraps an arm around ANGEL's neck from behind. ANGEL struggles briefly, then stops as GABRIEL tightens his grip.

GABRIEL: Fine. Here's a place to start: ensoul her. Now. (No one moves.) Damn it, she hasn't hurt anyone yet! I don't want to lose her.

ANGEL: We'd have to buy things. Candles. An Orb of Thesulah. Orbs aren't as easy to come by as they used to be.

BRITTANY (seizing MICHELLE's arm as she tries to slip out): I don't think she's interested.

GABRIEL: When's that ever stopped anyone? I wasn't interested either. Just do it. Do it or I bite your friend.

BRITTANY (utterly calm): Careful. He fights dirty, and you don't want your blood to get in his mouth.

MICHELLE (straining and rubbing at her arm): Why not? Go on and turn him, Gabriel. Think it'll make him sympathize?

GABRIEL (shakes his head): Not from what I heard. But I will kill him. What does it take to get some help from you people?

BRITTANY: That's another good question. From me? Let Angel go. From Angel? (dramatic pause) I got nothin'.

GABRIEL: I'll let him go if you'll let go of her.

ANGEL: She'll get away. Don't--

BRITTANY: (whispering in MICHELLE's ear) Prove that asshole wrong.

BRITTANY releases MICHELLE's arm. GABRIEL lets ANGEL loose as well. MICHELLE is poised on the balls of her feet, ready to run, but when GABRIEL shakes his head, she doesn't.

BRITTANY: Hey, Watcher. Get yourself a raincoat and let's track down Nov and Andrew.

ANGEL: Am I even actually your Watcher? You never do anything I say.

BRITTANY: Wow. Now you're asking a good question. Must be a blue moon tonight.

Without answering him, she gestures to GABRIEL and MICHELLE.

BRITTANY: C'mon in while I get my jacket. I think you're worth helping. Doesn't mean I won't keep an eye on you.

CUT TO

EXT. PARK -- DAY

NOVEMBER and ANDREW are on the edge of a large public park in poor repair; a pair of dumpsters nearby are covered in graffiti, with a great deal of trash scattered around. It's not clear how much of that was present before NOVEMBER's fight with the five SLIME DEMONS started, though. ANDREW is huddled in a raincoat and trying to stay out of the way; NOVEMBER is soaked through but doesn't seem to care. She's using an odd weapon shaped like a Klingon bat'leth but made of wood, except for a metal blade that's been set into a recess on the inside curve.

ANDREW (shouting): Are you sure you want to try that thing out? Just because it looks good on TV--

NOVEMBER slams the weapon forward, beheading a DEMON; its neck fountains slime as the body collapses to the ground.

NOVEMBER: I think it works! I told you, they had real martial artists design these, and the fighting style to go with 'em!

ANDREW: Well, yeah, but--

As NOVEMBER tries to bring the weapon down on another DEMON, it dodges, letting the weapon slam into the dumpster. The wooden parts crack in several places.

ANDREW (cont.): --those were made out of metal.

NOVEMBER (in Klingon): QI'yaH!

NOVEMBER manages to cut into the second DEMON with the damaged weapon before tossing it aside. The creature sags, leaking goo, but keeps fighting.

NOVEMBER: What's up with all these slime demons, anyway? I mean, Mr. Giles always said they were kinda rare.

ANDREW: Maybe something's triggered a breeding cycle?

ANDREW is forced to run around the dumpster as the fight moves closer to him. The DEMONS don't seem to be paying much attention to him.

NOVEMBER: Yuck. I mean, seriously--yuck!

ANDREW: We've been getting reports around the country of them appearing in greater numbers. The books say they need to leech calcium out of people's bones. If they don't, they'll eventually just melt.

NOVEMBER: Do they like the rain?

A DEMON has cornered her up against the dumpster; she spots a rusty hole and jams the DEMON's hand in, severing it.

ANDREW: I'm thinking yes!

NOVEMBER: Any chance of you having a knife on you? Even just a switchblade?

ANDREW: Last time I had a blade I nearly chopped my own hand off. Which, I think the Turok-Han would've been happy to let me do, if they'd noticed.

NOVEMBER: Geez. Guess you really do need that big puffy suit.

A DEMON manages to wrap its hands around her throat, causing a sparking energy effect.

NOVEMBER: Ow! Dammit! Andrew!

NOVEMBER fumbles in the mud, searching for her broken weapon, but can't find it. We see that it's lying several feet away, beyond the demons.

Four shots ring out; on the last one, we see the head of the DEMON holding NOVEMBER explode into goo. The bullet goes right through and ricochets off the dumpster. The DEMONS all collapse, dissolving.

PAN TO RILEY striding up as he takes off a motorcycle helmet.

RILEY: You know, you people really should learn to use these things. (He holds up a military-issue pistol.) Sometimes they come in handy.

NOVEMBER (breathlessly, getting up): That's not a very honorable weapon.

RILEY: Maybe not, but it did save your butt. (He holsters the gun.)

ANDREW (cutting in): We take your point. Hey, who are you and how do you know who "we people" are?

RILEY: My name's Riley Finn. I thought maybe Buffy--

NOVEMBER: You dated her and worked for the Initiative.

RILEY: That's it, miss. Now that you know my name, would you mind telling me yours?

NOVEMBER: I'm November Hall, and this is my Watcher, Andrew.

RILEY (offering his hand to ANDREW): Huh. Wells? Good to meet you. I was expecting someone...um, older.

ANDREW: I'm fairly newly initiated into the ancient ways of the Watcher's Council, but I have been helping Mr. Giles for several years now.

NOVEMBER: Most of the old-school Watchers kicked it, back in the year Sunnydale collapsed. You didn't know?

RILEY: Been kinda out of the loop with Buffy for a while. I only heard about Andrew because of that thing with Spike's chip. How's he doing, by the way? He still with Buffy? I had this idea we might be able to bury the hatchet after I helped him out.

Awkward silence ensues.

NOVEMBER: You really are out of the loop.

ANDREW: Spike's...dead. Again. And Buffy, she's...she's a vampire.

More silence.

RILEY (quietly): Damn. Just...damn. I...and nobody told me?

NOVEMBER: Weren't you in Brazil?

RILEY: For a while. They send the squads all over.

ANDREW: Say, um, how did you find us?

RILEY holds up his left hand, displaying a device worn on his wrist like a large watch.

RILEY: It's a larger-scale version of the sensors the Initiative put in the brain chips. It can pick up some demons up to a mile away, and map them within a hundred yards radius. (apologetically) I...I guess you should know, um, November--Slayers show up out on the fringes of the spectrum. It's a weak signal, and like I said, sort of unusual. The chips never registered it. But it means--

NOVEMBER: We know about that. Thanks for the honesty.

RILEY: I'm just glad Professor Walsh didn't know. (after a pause) I heard that Angel was in town.

ANDREW (nodding): He's a Watcher too, now. We're working together. Brothers-in-arms. And he's human!

RILEY: Really? There were rumors, but I didn't really think that could happen.

ANDREW: Hey, c'mon. You said you were out of the loop. So come with us and we'll fill you in.

RILEY: Thanks. I think you'd better start with Buffy.

NOVEMBER (glances at ANDREW): That's probly a good place to start.

END OF ACT II


	31. Haven: Disturb the Universe Act III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not kidding about the script stuff

ACT III

INT. COFFEE SHOP -- DAY

The rain is still pouring down on Chicago, drenching the streets. In here, though, it's warm, dry, and fairly cozy. NOVEMBER, ANDREW, and RILEY are seated at a table near the window, drinking coffees.

RILEY: You sure he got the call?

ANDREW: I didn't even try to talk to Angel. He'd probably have managed to cut me off anyway. Britt said--

ANGEL (from behind him): --that we'd be here in half an hour, but we got caught in traffic. Sorry to sneak up on you. I thought I'd give you fair warning.

BRITTANY, GABRIEL, and MICHELLE enter the coffee shop.

ANGEL (continued, quietly): We've got vampires in tow.

NOVEMBER (annoyed): These guys again?

BRITTANY (folding her arms): Yes, it is. They wanted to ask Angel his opinion on ensoulment. For some reason he seems less than thrilled with the idea. This is Riley?

RILEY nods. BRITTANY takes a seat across the table from him, as far away as she can get. ANGEL tries to sit next to her, but GABRIEL and MICHELLE take those seats, leaving him next to RILEY.

RILEY: But I thought that was what made you different. I mean, back when I was seeing.... (trailing off)

BRITTANY: Maybe that's the problem. What do you think, Angel?

ANGEL: It's not like that. I mean, yeah, I had that problem with Spike, but I got over it.

MICHELLE (derisive): Angel says he's special. God made him human, or something like that.

ANGEL: Not God. At least, not like...Doyle always called them "the Powers that Be"....

MICHELLE: Oh. Okay, so there's more than one.

ANGEL (continued): ...and they're not looking for worship or anything. But they're, I don't know, watching out for humanity.

GABRIEL: But not for the rest of us, huh?

ANGEL (trying to keep his temper): They gave Doyle and Cordelia visions about good demons, every once in a while, when it was important. I don't think they're biased or anything, it's just that demons usually don't need so much help.

BRITTANY: Unless they're being herded into little white cells by the government.

Everyone except GABRIEL and MICHELLE (who stare blankly at BRITTANY) glance at RILEY and then look back to BRITTANY.

NOVEMBER: What the hell are you on about now?

RILEY: Um. Miss Morgan? Look, I'm really sorry about that whole business. I made a mistake, a bad mistake, getting involved with the Initiative that way. I didn't ask enough questions.

BRITTANY (flatly): A mistake?

RILEY: I was trying to prevent them from hurting people. The military told me they were animals, just animals and that was all.

BRITTANY: Animals that talk? Animals that beg you to let them go?

RILEY (beginning to get upset): Animals that attack humans and kill them. I've seen what they do. I thought you must've seen it too, what with being a Slayer. Criminals are people, but sometimes you have to put them in jail. (taking a deep breath) But we did other things, too, things I wasn't expecting and that I'm ashamed I was involved with. I didn't know it would go that far, and I didn't know what Walsh and her superiors were planning. But you were going to make a point, right?

BRITTANY: Just that the Powers that Be didn't send Angel any warning about the Initiative building a damn concentration camp for demons.

NOVEMBER: Because they didn't have to. Buffy dealt with that. Besides, they did warn Angel about the Scourge, didn't they? Somebody had to handle that too, and it wasn't so different.

GABRIEL: Buffy? As in, the Buffy who's been massacring and torturing demons for the past couple of years?

NOVEMBER (hotly): No, as in the Buffy who died when somebody made a vampire out of her. The real Buffy'd never have done the stuff you're talking about.

MICHELLE: Why? Because she was human? Give me a break.

ANDREW: Because Buffy was a hero. The good guys don't do that kind of thing.

RILEY: Sometimes you have to do things you wouldn't normally think of to be a hero, and you get too used to them. One day you wake up and you're not one of the good guys any more, and you don't even know for sure when you changed sides.

ANGEL (thoughtfully):You're right. But that's not how it happened with Buffy.

BRITTANY: Maybe not. But we're getting away from the problem at hand. I derailed the conversation, and I shouldn't have.

RILEY: What's the problem at hand?

ANGEL: There are dimensional gateways opening in the sewers. Some people we know think it's connected to a cult that's offering vampires a fresh start, somewhere Buffy can't get at them. And we...I want to be sure it's not some sort of evil plan. (BRITTANY gives him a surprised look.) They could be building a demonic army, or something like that.

BRITTANY (disgusted): Or exiling them to a hell dimension.

MICHELLE: Or just stuffing us somewhere out of the way where we don't have anything to eat but they don't have to deal with us.

GABRIEL: Or they might even be telling the truth. I know, I know, it's a long shot. Stranger things have happened when there's a massacre going on.

RILEY: Well, whatever it is, we might as well find out. I'm in, if you'll have me.

ANDREW: What about Sam? Buffy said once that you were married now.

RILEY (hanging his head): Sam and I...had some problems last year. We're...well, separated, you might say.

NOVEMBER: What kind of problems? (RILEY doesn't answer) Maybe we can help out.

RILEY: Vampire problems.

ANGEL groans and seizes RILEY's right arm, pulling back the shirt sleeve. Vampire bite scars, old and new, cover the arm.

ANDREW (confused): I heard that was a Buffy thing.

ANGEL (annoyed): People get addicted. The adrenaline rush...sometimes drugs the vampires want. I'm just surprised he hasn't been drummed out yet.

RILEY: In my line of work, you get bit by a lot of things. The docs haven't asked too many questions about how I got them.

MICHELLE: Say, if you're on tap....

GABRIEL: No.

MICHELLE: C'mon, I'm not going to kill him. He's obviously a popular guy, why make enemies?

ANGEL: He's an addict. And you're better off without the human blood anyway.

MICHELLE: Huh. Almost sounds like you care.

NOVEMBER: Time's wasting, guys. I want to see what's at the bottom of the rabbit hole. Are we taking him or not?

BRITTANY: Aw, hell. What harm can it do?

ANGEL: He's not at full strength. It could get him killed.

BRITTANY: You know...it's amazing how okay I am with that.

CUT TO

INT. SEWER -- DAY

It's very dark and cramped in these sewers. ANGEL and ANDREW are carrying flashlights, but the beams keep being obstructed by the others or forcing them to avert their eyes. RILEY studies the readouts on his watch scanner.

ANGEL: I think Sunnydale and LA spoiled me.

NOVEMBER: Maybe it's the weather. I mean, vampires don't have to worry about the sun as much up here, so why live in the sewers?

ANGEL: You know, you might be right. (Something squishes as he steps in it.) I hope that was demon guts.

BRITTANY: So in addition to detecting all kinds of demons without a warrant, that thing can pick up interdimensional energies?

RILEY: Considering how often the two go together, I'm surprised you're surprised. Anyway, you're a Slayer. You know where demons are all the time.

BRITTANY: It's something I was born with. I didn't ask for it, and I don't violate people's privacy unless I have to.

RILEY: Neither do I. Now can you make any more noise?

BRITTANY stops talking.

MICHELLE: So you're seriously telling me these Slayers are demons too? Gabriel didn't bother letting me know that part. (shooting him a glare)

ANDREW: Um, well, not really. Not exactly. They have just a little bit of a primordial demon essence in them. It's what gives them their powers.

MICHELLE: Figures. Hypocrites.

ANDREW: They didn't know. I don't think anyone knew except maybe the Watchers' Council, not till just a few years ago.

MICHELLE: So they just figured they were ordinary human girls. Who happen to be super-strong.

RILEY (raising his voice very slightly): The readings are getting stronger here. I think if we could talk a little louder, someone might hear us coming.

MICHELLE (softly): Hmph.

Everyone falls silent.

INT. SEWER CHAMBER -- DAY

The narrow passage opens out into a larger chamber, its walls lined with chains. The VAMPIRES we saw before, and a few more, are still shackled to the walls; the ones who were wounded before have been mutilated further, but all are still moving, clearly "alive".

NOVEMBER: Aw, hell....

RILEY (gesturing to scanner): There's something else here.

GABRIEL: Y'think?

He moves toward the nearest shackled VAMPIRE, who looks up at him, head lolling weakly. Then there is a blur of motion, and GABRIEL is sent sprawling.

ANDREW: What the--?

RILEY pulls out his gun, only to have it knocked from his grasp by the same blur. NOVEMBER leaps forward and manages to seize hold of the creature; as it comes to a near halt we see the INSECT DEMON. Then it throws her off, slamming her against one of the shackled VAMPIRES.

DEMON: Not interested. Go away, humans. Not quarrel with you.

RILEY: Like hell you're not.

DEMON: You humans and your hell. Know nothing.

ANGEL: It's you, isn't it? You're the one behind this.

DEMON: Standing here in front of you. Kkk. Behind nothing.

ANGEL: You want slave labor to rebuild your world. But humans can't live there--they can't breathe--so you're taking vampires. You're this "Directorate" I heard about.

RILEY gives ANGEL a peculiar look.

DEMON: Rebuild?

BRITTANY: Rebuild?

ANGEL: It's from the world Jasmine took over before Earth. She abandoned them and left their world in a shambles, worse than ours because she'd ruled it longer. So they want to make us help them fix things.

DEMON: Kkk. Want nothing like that from Earth. What is directorate?

ANGEL (baffled): Then what? Double-Meat patties? Because you should probably know--

DEMON: All gone. All but few. Searching.

MICHELLE: For what?

DEMON: When god-killer is dead, world in balance. Then we end.

MICHELLE groans and facepalms.

MICHELLE: What is it with all these damn gods?

NOVEMBER: Dead gods.

ANDREW: Dead false gods. (He and NOVEMBER share a glance.)

ANGEL: Jasmine was a rogue Power. She ate people. She wanted to take over the world. I wouldn't dignify her with the name "god".

DEMON (harshly): She...offered...you...peace! You slew her!

ANGEL: It wasn't worth the price.

DEMON: Find one who did it. Balance scales.

ANGEL: She was never coming back to you.

DEMON: Might have. When you rejected her.

When the camera returns to ANGEL's party, RILEY has stepped out of view.

ANGEL: She didn't give us the chance!

BRITTANY: Angel...I don't think he cares. He wants--

ANGEL (stepping forward): Fine. You want the god-killer? Here I am. I'm the one.

DEMON: You? One human alone?

ANGEL: I invaded your world to find out how. Weren't you there?

DEMON: Kkk. World not that small, little human. Is yours?

ANGEL: Um, no. Guess not. You said there were others looking. Call 'em. Tell them you found me. Then kill me if you want.

NOVEMBER (horrified): Angel, are you crazy?

The DEMON raises a hand, a shimmering bracelet around its wrist, and speaks into it in a clacking hiss, then drops it back down.

RILEY reappears, raising his gun, and fires, but the shot goes wild as the DEMON lunges forward, knocking him down and seizing ANGEL by the throat. ANGEL lashes out with both fists and feet; his punches do no real damage, but his kicks strike the joint where the DEMON's body goes from horizontal to vertical, and the creature shouts something incoherent and drops him. Those of the chained VAMPIRES that are conscious begin to shout encouragement.

NOVEMBER rushes forward again, followed by BRITTANY. NOVEMBER strikes at the body joint, while BRITTANY draws a large knife and attempts to hack at the legs. Meanwhile we see GABRIEL pull MICHELLE away from the fallen RILEY.

GABRIEL: How many times do I have to tell you--

MICHELLE: I didn't! Pay some damn attention!

The DEMON kicks BRITTANY away, crashing her into NOVEMBER, and seizes hold of ANGEL by the left arm, pulling him up.

DEMON: Take him. We take him away from here.

RILEY aims his gun at the DEMON's head; it pulls a struggling ANGEL in front of it as a shield.

DEMON: You hit him, not me. Kill him, good for us.

RILEY is beginning to lower the gun when MICHELLE grabs it out of his hand. Almost faster than we can see, she raises it and fires once. NOVEMBER tackles her, yanking the gun away.

NOVEMBER: You idiot, you can't take a shot like that!

The DEMON drops ANGEL as it crumples, revealing a hole drilled through its forehead. ANGEL puts a hand to his ear; the hand comes away with a few droplets of blood on it. CLOSE-UP on ANGEL's just-grazed ear.

MICHELLE: Don't tell me no vampire's ever done that before. I mean, seriously: reflexes, eyesight, manual dexterity....

ANDREW: Usually they don't bother with guns.

MICHELLE: Dumb-asses. Besides, I told you: I want a taste of him. Can't do that if he's dead in some alternate dimension.

RILEY: Are we sure it's dead? Bullets don't always work on things like this.

ANGEL moves aside, allowing GABRIEL to kick at the demon; there is a rustling and the empty husk breaks open.

GABRIEL: Looks that way to me.

RILEY: We should get out of here before more of them show up. I'll call in a favor, have the rest of them tracked and eliminated.

BRITTANY (sadly): It's kind of a shame, don't you think?

ANGEL: It's what they said they wanted. If they want to die, we might as well oblige them.

BRITTANY: I guess.

NOVEMBER: Break out the stakes. (She pulls one out herself.)

ANGEL (hesitating a moment): ...No. (BRITTANY looks at him curiously, perhaps hopefully.) Let the bug demons take care of them. They can take the blame for killing Jasmine.

NOVEMBER: Makes sense to me.

ANGEL strides out into the passageway, and NOVEMBER, then RILEY, follow him. GABRIEL takes MICHELLE's hand and leads her after them. BRITTANY and ANDREW share a frustrated look.

ANDREW: We could.... (trailing off)

BRITTANY: We don't have a way to get them loose. I can't break handcuffs, at least not soon enough. Not by myself.

ANDREW: I guess Angel's right. He can't risk them coming for Connor. (He starts to walk away.)

BRITTANY: Who?

ANDREW doesn't answer, and she sighs and follows him. The chained VAMPIRES shout angrily, then fade into the distance.  
END OF ACT III

CODA

INT. BRITTANY'S APARTMENT -- NIGHT

BRITTANY is sitting in front of her computer, typing a long-ish document; we can see some legal terms in what is presumably a paper for one of her classes.

BRITTANY: What you did, Angel--that really stank.

PAN to ANGEL, sitting on the bed. He looks at his hands.

ANGEL: Do you really think November would have helped you get them loose?

BRITTANY (hesitating, continuing to type as she talks): No. Probably not. That doesn't make it right, though. You used them. That isn't the sort of thing heroes do.

ANGEL (sighs irritably): They're vampires. There's nothing heroic about letting them go. I keep telling you, there's nothing I can do to help them. That's just the way the world is.

BRITTANY: Lilah told me once that heroes don't accept the world the way it is. Ever heard that?

ANGEL: Lilah said that to you?

BRITTANY: Well...she said it made them crazy. But I think she was right anyway.

ANGEL (looking away): Those things...they would have come after Connor. My son. He's the one who really killed Jasmine. Eventually they'd find him.

BRITTANY: You have a son?

ANGEL: Lilah didn't tell you?

BRITTANY (shaking her head): Why would she know?

ANGEL: It's a long story. I couldn't kill Jasmine, though. It took her father to do that.

BRITTANY: And Connor was her father.

ANGEL: In this world. She claimed to have arranged his birth, and Cordelia being made part-demon, and a lot of other things, just to bring herself here. I don't guess there's any way to know for sure.

BRITTANY: Why him? Why did she need a vampire's son to be daddy?

ANGEL: Because he wasn't natural. She needed that, needed the demonic blood as an "in" to get into this world. It...broke the laws of life and death for me and Darla to have him. Jasmine needed to use that.

BRITTANY (stops typing): With Darla?

ANGEL: It was part of the prophecy. The Nyazian Scrolls, remember?

BRITTANY (quoting): "There will be no birth."

ANGEL: That's why she killed herself. To let him into the world. He's the one who actually killed Sahjhan, not me. That's what the prophecy was about.

BRITTANY (skeptically): After the purification or ruination of humanity, it just came down to killing a particular demon. That was all?

ANGEL (shrugs): That's how it worked out.

The door to the hallway opens, and GABRIEL and MICHELLE walk in with no difficulty at all. ANGEL stares at them in disbelief, but BRITTANY smiles and raises a hand in greeting.

BRITTANY: Honestly, Angel? I think you have a lot to learn.

CUT TO  
EXT SUBURBAN STREETS -- NIGHT

(Radio playing Alice Cooper's "Poison": You're poison, ah-ahhh, you're poison runnin' through my veins/You're poison, ah-ahhh, I don't wanna break these chains)

RILEY's riding down the street of a subdivision on his motorcycle; slowing, he turns into the driveway of a small brick house essentially identical to every other on the street.

(I hear you callin' and it's needles and pins (and pins)/I wanna hurt you just to hear you screamin' my name/Don't wanna touch you but you're under my skin/I wanna--)

RILEY shuts off the radio at his belt, removes his helmet, and walks up to the door; he unlocks it and goes inside. He checks a small alarm panel next to the door, then pulls a metallic, rodlike device out of his pocket. It has a single button, which he presses, and a metal plate with a serial number.

COMPUTERIZED SPEAKER: No. Unauthorized. Attempts at exit.

RILEY smiles, satisfied. He puts the device back in his pocket and the helmet down on the kitchen table, leaving him empty-handed.

RILEY: Honey? I'm home!

No one answers. We pan and cut through the darkened house--the living room, the bedroom, the bathroom--all empty. Finally we pass through a closed door leading to the basement. Here, someone is sitting alone on a cot; it's so dark we can't really make out a face.

RILEY (offscreen, a little concerned): C'mon, Sam? Dinner?

We hear the vampire-morphing sound, and the shadowy figure's eyes flare yellow.

CUT TO BLACK

Guest starring: Ivana Miličević as Sam Finn


	32. Schism: Generation of Vipers Act I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not too many more of these script chapters

TEASER

EXT. BURNING WASTELAND -- NIGHT

There was a city here. Once. Now all that remains is a shambles of burning wreckage, charred buildings collapsing into the streets. We are looking down on that wreckage, zooming closer.

There is a GIRL, suspended in the air mid jump-kick, wearing a shiny black jumpsuit. Surrounding her is a ring of seven VAMPIRES. None of them are moving--or rather, everyone is moving very slowly, in BULLET TIME.

CLOSEUP on DENA's face, hair streaming around her; her jaw is set, her eyes hard and utterly without remorse or regret.

DENA's foot collides with a VAMPIRE's face, distorting it, and the action zooms forward as regular time resumes. DENA pivots, kicks, punches, and pivots again, her feet and hands a blur of motion. In a matter of moments she has staked six out of her seven opponents. Time slows again, briefly, as she yanks a street sign from the ground and swings it around to cleave the last VAMPIRE's neck.

BUFFY (off-screen): You're good.

BUFFY, clad in grey t-shirt and slacks, strides out of a burning building as it crumbles around her, seemingly untouched by the flame that swirls around her, reflecting in her yellow eyes.

DENA: You're evil.

BUFFY: And yet I've done most of your work for you.

DENA (shrugging): Thanks.

BUFFY: Hey, I got the place all to myself now. No more sharing. Now start trying to hit me.

DENA (with a snicker): What do you mean, trying?

BUFFY I'm stronger, faster, and a whole lot smarter than you. So there's no way in hell you can beat me, Miss Greer.

DENA: Funny--this isn't hell.

She holds out her right hand and beckons BUFFY to attack.

BUFFY: Of course it isn't. What may not be expected (lunging forward) in a place where there is no darkness?

They fight. BUFFY is indeed very strong and very fast, but somehow DENA always seems to be a step or two ahead of her, blocking her punches and sidestepping her kicks. Soon BUFFY is having to catch or deflect DENA's punches, and every time she has to grab DENA's right fist the tattooed cross sears her flesh. Much sooner than we might expect, DENA knocks BUFFY to the pavement, prone, and brings a heavy boot down on her face; we see pieces of BUFFY's skull flying as she dusts.

The rolling clouds of smoke become rain clouds, flashing with lightning, and almost immediately a torrent of rain drenches the streets, putting the fire out. DENA takes a bow and looks around as if waiting for something to end.

Instead, we hear a voice humming the tune of UB40's "Red Red Wine". SADHA, looking amused, strides up the street, unconcerned that the rain is soaking her through.

DENA: What the hell are you doing here?

SADHA: I'm looking for a fair fight, that's all. Put down your weapon, shaman, and let us see who is the stronger.

DENA (looking at her empty hands): Weapon? Huh? What're you yammering about?

SADHA: Your weapon, shaman. Cast it aside. (She gestures at DENA's right hand as the camera focuses on the tattooed cross.)

DENA (raising the hand, cross facing us and SADHA): Uh, you might've noticed--this doesn't come off.

SADHA (mocking) Sad to see a girl's faith fail.

DENA: If you're not gonna--hey!!

DENA's hand has begun to blister and blacken around the edges of the tattoo, as if it were burning her. Abruptly her hand bursts into flame despite the pouring rain. She beats at it with her other hand, but only succeeds in spreading the fire to her other arm. As the fire spreads over her, her screams mingle with SADHA's laughter.

CUT TO

INT. DENA'S BEDROOM -- DAY

DENA leaps upright in bed, gasping for air. Her alarm is going off.

She studies her tattooed right hand, which is unharmed. Tentatively she stretches it out into the sunlight coming in the window. Nothing happens.

THEME PLAYS, CREDITS ROLL

Theme: "What I've Done," Linkin Park

Starring:  
Aishwarya Rai as Sadha Kaur  
Ellen Muth as Dena Greer  
Erica Hubbard as Regan Stacey  
Roy Dotrice as Roger Wyndham-Price  
Ivana Baquero as Solita Munoz  
and Seth Green as Daniel "Oz" Osbourne

Guest Starring:  
Sarah Michelle Gellar as Buffy Summers  
Callum Blue as Brandon Ravensdale  
Camille Winbush as Ugandan Slayer  
Alexa Davalos as Gwen Raiden

ACT I

EXT. RENTAL HOUSE -- DAY

REGAN is climbing into the passenger seat of a shiny green pickup truck. The driver's seat is already occupied by JANINE, a tall girl with platinum blonde hair; MIRIAM, a green-eyed redhead, scoots into the middle. REGAN gives MIRIAM a quick, friendly hug as JANINE puts the truck in gear and drives off.

JANINE: Hello again.

REGAN: Hey.

JANINE: I'm having trouble believing your roomie's really too scary for us to come inside.

REGAN: Well, let the charm fall out of your shirt around Dena and you'll find out.

JANINE frowns and lifts up the chain necklace she's wearing, which has a small silvery pentagram at the end.

JANINE: Damn. People like that suck. How'd you end up living with her anyway?

REGAN and MIRIAM glance at each other.

REGAN: It's a long story. You know what a Slayer is?

JANINE: An old rock band?

REGAN (patiently): We're...warriors. We have supernatural strength, a few other powers. They made us a long time ago to kill demons. Only, I don't, really. There used to only be one of us at a time, but not any more.

JANINE (taking this in stride): Seriously?

REGAN (with a nod): Totally. Like I said...long story.

JANINE: I thought you were friends with Miriam, though?

MIRIAM: We were neighbors growing up. Hell, the way things are right now, my parents didn't want me leaving for college until I told them Regan was coming here too.

REGAN: I'm really not a violent person. I...don't like killing...anything. Not even in self-defense, if I can help it.

MIRIAM: Well, I just won't mention that last part to Mom. She'd have me out of this dimension before you could say "Belgar's bones".

REGAN: Death is ugly. I know it's a part of life, but there's no good reason it can't wait till we're done with the rest. Except that some people, demons and humans both, are buttholes. Anyway, Miriam doesn't visit my place, I visit hers, because Slayers can mostly sense she's not human. And you should be careful too if you have to come over for some reason. No magic, and probably no girlfriend. I'm sorry.

JANINE: No worries. If Dena didn't tear me a new one, Kath would. She hates me taking risks. How'd you end up rooming with this...this bitch, and why's she leave you alone? Are you stronger, or did you zap her, or what?

REGAN: I can't seem to get the magic down for some reason. And Dena's stronger. But since we're both Slayers she thinks of me as some sort of misguided sister. Mister Giles had me come here to college when I started because he thinks we're going to rub off on each other--she's too violent and I'm not violent enough, the way he thinks. He's the "head Watcher". The Watchers train us to fight, or they used to--things got all complicated a few years ago and a lot of Watchers died.

JANINE takes a puzzled look out the window, where dark clouds are building up in the distance.

JANINE: Listen, I don't know why you'd let them do that to you, but if you ever get worried, come to me, okay? We'll--

REGAN: I know, but I really am supposed to train. Just in case. For world-ending stuff. Don't worry, if she ever gets violent on me I'll leave.

JANINE: I was going to say we'd turn her into a toad or something, but, yeah, that too, definitely.

MIRIAM: What makes people be like that? Sometimes I think I don't understand humans at all, and I've lived on Earth since I was...well, more or less a toddler.

JANINE (sneering): My guess? She's repressed. It's the usual thing. She's a virgin, isn't she? (REGAN nods, although JANINE continues right over her, sounding annoyed.) She needs to get laid. In fact, odds are she's into girls and won't admit it. The real hardcases are like that a lot of the time. If I meet a girl I think can stand up to her, I'll mention her to you, okay?

REGAN: I...I think that might be a bad idea. If we weren't in a moving vehicle I'd show you how strong we are.

The sky is darkening rapidly as clouds roll across it.

JANINE: You realize it's not wrong to teach her a lesson, as long as you're willing to accept the consequences.

REGAN: I told you, I don't hurt people.

MIRIAM: It's not about hurting her, Ray. But Janine doesn't understand about you and magic.

REGAN: I really never have been good with the spell part of things. And when I was called--when I actually became an active Slayer, I mean--it got worse. I don't know if it's the energy being diverted or what.

JANINE: That's weird. (She looks out the window again; rain has begun to patter softly on the roof.) Wow. It was supposed to be clear today. Sorry. You were saying...I've never heard of that. But then I'd never heard of Slayers either. Anyway, we can try and get some heads together and think of something today. What do you think? Repression, bad for the body and the soul.

REGAN: As long as we don't hurt her.

JANINE: You really are fixated on the nonviolence. (Pause) I have to ask. You're not sweet on her, are you? Just a thought.

REGAN (firmly): Trust me, I'm straight. Just between boyfriends at the moment, what with starting college. And pacifist.

JANINE (dubiously): Okay. Well, you're going to be in good company. Your first meeting of the Rice U. Student Pagan Association for the semester, coming right up.

The truck pulls into the driveway of a large private home.

JANINE: This is Adrian's house. His parents are cool with us, and his dad likes to cook out. Are you vegetarian too?

REGAN: Yeah, but not vegan. I love eggs too much.

JANINE: Miriam, you?

They begin to get out of the truck.

MIRIAM: Constitutionally incapable. I've got to have meat.

JANINE: No problem. (softly and conspiratorially, to REGAN) You're sure you don't want to hurt her? Even just a little?

REGAN (irritated): I don't do violence, okay? (Lightning cracks, thunder rumbles, and the rain turns heavy.) Just let it go.

JANINE: Okay, okay. Just kidding.

As they sprint for the house, JANINE wears a curious frown.

CUT TO

EXT. RESTAURANT PATIO -- DAY

Death Cab for Cutie's "Grapevine Fires" begins to play in the background: [When the wind picked up, the fire spread/And the grapevines seemed left for dead]

RAVENSDALE is sitting at a wrought-iron table outside a small but upscale restaurant. The sky is overcast, and periodically a spray of rain passes through the area, which means that this patio area is nearly deserted. Unconcerned by the weather, he's eating heartily. Then a fly lands in his soup; he spoons it up with a slice of potato, seeming ready to eat it too.

[And the northern sky looked like the end of days/The end of days]

SADHA sighs, appearing to his left.

SADHA: You really ought not to eat that.

RAVENSDALE: Of course not, Mistress. I was just going to toss it aside.

SADHA (shaking her head): Look at me, Ravensdale.

[And a wake-up call to a rented room...]

Music fades out.

She sits down in front of him and fixes his gaze with hers.

SADHA (continued): Listen to me and do what I tell you. There will be no eating of bugs. And you will not call me "Mistress". At the very least, not in public.

RAVENSDALE (woodenly): Of course not, M...Madam. Why would I eat insects?

SADHA: Conduct your personal affairs as you like. All I ask is that you continue to bring word of Wyndham-Price's actions to me, and that you not do the reverse.

RAVENSDALE: Naturally, Madam.

SADHA (making a face): There. That's done with. (She waves a hand between them.) Rather nice weather, wouldn't you say?

RAVENSDALE: Quite convenient, especially for Texas. Still, it is a bit warmer than I prefer. But you aren't on fire, which is very desirable.

SADHA (with a laugh): Yes, I like it that way too. So tell me, what are Roger and his personal Slayer up to at the moment?

RAVENSDALE: He destroyed the message you sent him. He's determined that the Helm of Kasparov was a ruse, and claims to be waiting for you to make the next move.

SADHA: Yes. He seems to do that a great deal. Unfortunately I'm trying to do the same.

RAVENSDALE: Patience is a virtue, Madam. And, strategically, it's to his advantage if he can simply respond to your activities, just as it is to you in reverse.

SADHA: Except that neither of us gains anything so long as both are inactive.

RAVENSDALE: If you will pardon my impertinence, Madam, that isn't the case, especially by your philosophy. If all vampires did nothing but wait for someone to respond to their presence, Slayers could afford to do the same. There would be peace.

SADHA (making a dismissive gesture): Ah, yes, my philosophy. But I can't very well expect him to follow my philosophy, can I? So his motives have nothing to do with that.

RAVENSDALE: Perhaps, if you continue to behave peaceably, he might take the hint?

SADHA (barking a laugh): It's good to see I haven't damaged your sense of humor. No, even if that were the case--and we both know it isn't; Roger will never believe such a thing is possible or desirable--we're in the middle of a crisis. I can't afford to sit idle, not for long.

RAVENSDALE: What, then?

SADHA: He's attacked my Slayer with his. Perhaps it's time I reciprocated.

RAVENSDALE: Is that wise, Mistress?

SADHA (mildly annoyed): Under the circumstances, Ravensdale, nothing is wise. There are merely different degrees of foolhardiness. More to the point is whether it's practical. She's still chafing at taking direction from a vampire. Ordering her would be pointless. Fortunately, I have another method at hand.

SADHA fishes in her handbag and removes a small golden medallion, a disk with raised flowing symbols. The music resumes.

SADHA (continued): A little adjustment should fix matters up nicely.

[...to warn us it's only a matter of time]

RAVENSDALE: If you say so, Mistress.

SADHA: Ravensdale. Please? It isn't necessary to advertise that you're in thrall.

[Before we all burn/before we all burn]

RAVENSDALE: I would never refer to you as Mistress in Mr. Wyndham-Price's presence, Mistress. Or that of his servants, either.

SADHA: I should hope not. (standing) And again...stay off the bugs, Brandon. They're not good for you.

[Before we all burn....]

CUT TO

EXT. TENNIS COURT -- DAY

DENA's Jeep is parked outside the fence of this block of tennis courts within a larger park. The courts are worn and strewn with leaves, indicating they're used, and cleaned, infrequently. DENA and SOLITA are facing each other on the same side of one net, wearing tight dark jackets against the chill. DENA has on a pair of heavy black thick-soled boots like the ones she wore in the dream.

[Before we all burn.... Music fades out.]

DENA: I wanna be clear on this, kiddo. This isn't full combat training. Your parents said self-defense, so we're doing self-defense. I don't want to hear about you going out on patrol, okay? Maybe when you're older.

SOLITA: Mister Osbourne says Slayers always fought when they were called, no matter how young they were.

DENA: Well, yeah. But that's different. There's more of us now. You're just a kid. You don't hafta jump right in. Oh, and he'd laugh his butt off hearin' you call him that.

SOLITA: Huh? Why?

DENA: Y'know, he's a musician, and people get confused about what his first name is. Dunno why he likes the joke, though. Ugh.

SOLITA looks blank.

DENA: I'll explain some other time. Or he can. I don't get into that stuff.

SOLITA: What do you get into?

DENA: Stomping demons back to hell where they belong. Um, put your hands up in front of you.

SOLITA raises her fists.

DENA (cont.): No, no--hands open for now. It's been a long time since I was at this point, so bear with me, 'kay? I'm gonna throw a punch, and I want you to block it.

SOLITA: Which hand?

DENA: Um...how about you work that out yourself? You're one of us. Let your gut tell you what I'm up to.

DENA swings--not very hard or fast--with her right hand. SOLITA catches it easily.

SOLITA (frowning): Am I that much stronger than you?

DENA (a little concerned): No, no, I'm going easy on you. Last thing I want is you going home all beat up.

This time DENA feints a similar punch from the left, then drives a genuinely hard right for SOLITA's face instead. SOLITA isn't fooled, though she isn't quite fast enough to block it properly--but she half dodges, half knocks the blow aside, and manages to avoid being hit. DENA rubs her wrist where SOLITA struck it.

DENA: Good instinct. Okay, keep blocking. And dodging--dodging is good. Some things hit too hard to block, unless you want a broken arm. But for now, let's focus on blocks--don't dodge unless you're gonna get hit.

SOLITA: You think I'm fast enough to see that?

DENA (with a shrug): I don't know. I don't know how strong or how fast you are. (She tries to get a left hook past SOLITA's guard and fails.) All I know is I haven't hit you yet. Oh, and you went home from the hospital a day after that pickup clobbered you. You could be better than me. (SOLITA catches a straight right that shoves her back slightly.) Which, not to brag, is pretty darn good.

DENA's punches speed up. SOLITA still only has to dodge about one out of every four.

SOLITA: Is this really how you send demons to hell? I mean, do you not need a priest?

DENA: You kill something evil, it pretty generally goes to hell. As for the other thing...I don't wanna get into a big theological dustup, but truth is, I am a priest. (seeing SOLITA's confusion) It's a thing. We can look it up when we go home.

SOLITA begins to say something just as DENA clips her on the jaw. Distracted, she rubs her face.

SOLITA: Ow. Bith my tung.

DENA (pausing for a moment): Occupational hazard. I don't usually bother with my nails any more, either. You all right?

SOLITA: Bien.

DENA begins punching again without waiting for SOLITA to get her hands up, but the younger girl doesn't seem to have any trouble.

SOLITA: It doesn't bother you, sending people to hell?

DENA (a little angry, punches matching the emphasis of her words): I don't kill people. I don't even fight humans unless they're dumb enough to attack me or someone around me. And if I ever see you hurt a person, or hear about it, I'll hunt you down myself. Got it?

SOLITA nods, a little frightened by DENA's intensity.

DENA (focused, punctuating her sentences with blows): A demon is not a person. Demons are always evil. It's just the way they are. Humans have free will. We make choices. Demons don't, not any more anyway. So hell's where they belong. Think of it like...prison. Feeling guilty for killing demons'd be...like police feeling guilty for hauling in criminals. It's just dumb.

SOLITA: It doesn't bother you at all?

DENA: Nope.

SOLITA: Why is it our job? We're just girls.

DENA (shrugging): Guess it's what God--

Unexpectedly DENA gets a punch through, hitting SOLITA hard and squarely in the chest. SOLITA staggers back a few steps, then lashes out, hitting DENA dead center to the gut.

The punch knocks DENA off her feet, and she flies backward into the net, bringing it down.

SOLITA rushes over to crouch next to her. DENA doesn't get up, but she's breathing, coughing, and after a moment she shoves SOLITA carefully away.

DENA (coughing): Dang. I'd say...you have your...counterattacks down.

SOLITA: Are you all right? You didn't hit me that hard.

DENA (seizing SOLITA's arm to help her up): Guess you're just that tough. I'm impressed.

SOLITA: Will I have to start fighting now?

DENA: Not till you know what you're doin', kid. (She slaps SOLITA on the back.) We haven't even started on kicks yet, and I love my stompy boots. Let's get back to it.

CUT TO

INT. CHURCH SANCTUARY -- NIGHT

CAPTION: Two days ago...

Piano music is playing in this rather traditionally-constructed building, accompanying what sounds like a small number of enthusiastic but mostly-weak singers. The lights are dim, seemingly by design, reflecting from yellow stained-glass windows.. As the camera pulls back, we see a cluster of people sitting in the pews closest to the altar; a speaker's dais is currently unoccupied.

CONGREGATION (singing): ....at last I lay down/I will cling to the old rugged cross/and exchange it someday for a crown.//Oh that old rugged cross/stained with blood so divine/has a wondrous attraction for me/for 'twas on that old cross....

The music fades somewhat as the camera turns to focus on three people in a section of the sanctuary off to the right. One of them, a MIDDLE-AGED BLACK WOMAN in a conservatively-cut grey dress, is attempting without much success to get a second to drink from an insulated cup while the third, a dignified but melancholy ELDERLY MAN, looks on. The would-be DRINKER, a young red-haired man, is staring vacantly into space.

PASTOR AGNES: ...know how much trouble you went to for him, son, but maybe this isn't the kindest thing for him. The truth is, we can't get at but a fraction of them this way, Harold.

HAROLD: I ain't givin' up on him, Pastor. He's my sire. As much bad as we did, Aggie, this's the guy who helped me make my way in the world. He meant good for me, even if not for much of anyone else, an' I owe the boy a shot at redemption.

PASTOR AGNES: And if redemption was a thing we could just hand out like candy canes, Harold, I'd have nothing to say to you. But you know we don't manage to get more'n one in five, if that. Every one we staked or burned or beheaded was someone's spawn, maybe someone's sire, not to mention someone's son or daughter, sometime or another.

HAROLD: Then don't it make Gregory more special, not less? We got 'im back, Pastor, out of all the ones we've lost.

PASTOR AGNES (putting a hand on his shoulder): I don't want to let him go either, Harold, but the point I'm trying to make is, sometimes you do all you can an' it isn't enough. He's old, Harold, even if he don't look it. He has his soul. That may be all we can do for him, and not much of a favor at that.

GREGORY manages at this point to take a swallow.

HAROLD: We're here with you, son. I'm not lettin' 'em take you back. I'm not lettin' 'em hurt you, neither. You hang on.

PASTOR AGNES: She'll come for him, you know.

HAROLD: Let 'er.

PAN OUT, back across the congregation, whose singing fades back in, faintly..

CONGREGATION (singing): ...face/revel in his love and grace/in that City where they need no sun....

END ACT I


	33. Schism: Generation of Vipers Act II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise

ACT II

INT. RENTAL HOUSE, MAIN ROOM -- DAY

OZ is slouched casually on the futon, watching television, when SADHA enters via the kitchen. She stops and waits for him to notice her, rather than speaking.

ANNOUNCER: ...overall gang violence continues to increase in our local community as well as cities elsewhere in the United States and the world. Serious incidents were reported as recently as last night in New York City, Seattle, Saint Louis, Moscow, Sydney, and most recently Beijing, where armored vehicles have entered the streets in an attempt to contain rioters.

OZ raises an eyebrow, perhaps in response to SADHA's presence, or perhaps regarding the news.

ANNOUNCER: Still no word from Nashville authorities on whether the bombing at Vanderbilt University is connected to the general unrest, but the governor of Tennessee has gone on record demanding that National Guard troops be returned from the Middle East to deal with the violence at home.

The television cuts to a press conference scene just as OZ shuts it off.

OZ: Seems to be a lot of PCP on the streets lately.

SADHA: Your President regretfully suggests that peaceful opponents of the war make a stronger effort to keep their colleagues under control.

OZ: Well, naturally. Any "protestors" on the streets here?

SADHA: It's oddly quiet. Personally, I was hoping to reconnect with my heritage today--I was certain that in a city this size there would be a Sikh temple, even in the...does Texas qualify as "Deep South"?

OZ (nodding): This part.

SADHA: ...but if so, I couldn't locate it. Perhaps the weather will persist, but I can't honestly hope for that under the circumstances. A shame. I suppose, though, that after more than a century, even my hometown would feel like a foreign country. I took care of other business instead.

SADHA comes the rest of the way into the room and sits down on a folding chair near the futon.

OZ: Anything to do with Dena?

SADHA: Not directly. She's off attempting to train the Munoz girl.

OZ: Are you even trying to work with Dena?

SADHA (startled): I'm doing the best I can manage, Oz. She's extraordinarily headstrong.

OZ: No kidding. So why keep telling her to kill you?

SADHA: I'm certain Angel would say as much. I could become a danger at any time--

OZ raises an eyebrow.

SADHA: That's not at all the same thing. You would simply be a beast--no offense intended. I would retain my full intellect and knowledge.

OZ: Dena knows that. The difference isn't you. It's her. She could kill either of us without batting an eye.

SADHA: Well, she should, if--

OZ: But there's no "if" here. You keep telling her what she wants to hear. "I'm not a person. I don't have any rights. Use me, or kill me if you want."

SADHA: All of which is quite literally true, and, given my past, quite just. And if she doesn't hear it, she will simply stop listening to me. It's necessary to guide her, not force her. I can't make her obey me, Oz.

OZ: Do you know why I didn't stay in Sunnydale?

SADHA (tilting her head, puzzled): You said that Willow had moved on. What does that have to do with anything?

OZ: I could've stayed to help. Gone back to college. Willow falling for someone else didn't force me out of town. Do I look like a guy who can't let go?

SADHA: True. So why didn't you?

OZ: I nearly killed Tara. And then the Initiative caught me and stuffed me in a box, the same as any other demon. I had to ask myself, "Do I deserve to be here?"

SADHA: It wasn't your choice to attack her.

OZ: Are you sure? I smelled her on Willow. I got angry. And I changed.

SADHA (after waiting a moment for him to go on): You believe you deserved it, then?

OZ: That was it. I didn't know. What I knew was, I hated it and I wanted out. I didn't want to be experimented on. I didn't want to die. If I deserved it, then maybe everything the Initiative did was right. If I didn't deserve it, then was what we'd been doing really that different?

SADHA: So now you have your answer.

OZ (shaking his head): I don't. I came to help because, if someone doesn't find an answer soon, I don't think there'll be anyone left to offer it to.

SADHA: That bad?

OZ: I think...what we're looking at...(he doesn't finish)

SADHA: I asked my father once how he reconciled the duties of a Watcher with the principle of compassion for all beings. He told me humanity was enough for any one person to worry about. I don't think it was the answer of a very good Sikh, but in all my time as a Watcher I don't know that I found a better one. (bitterly) Of course, I was human when he said that. (after a pause) You're not going to tell me I count as human?

OZ: Angel liked to hear that. I never thought he believed it, but he liked it.

SADHA: Should he not have?

OZ: Angel's whole schtick was, he was alone. The only one of his kind. (He moves decisively to put a hand on her shoulder.) You're not.

CUT TO

INT. ADRIAN'S LIVING ROOM -- DAY

This room of ADRIAN's spacious middle-class home contains several couches focused on a fireplace, although not many of the thirty or so STUDENTS are actually sitting in them. Most of them are cross-legged on the floor or standing near the back wall, talking, REGAN and JANINE among the latter.

REGAN: ...don't see any way you could get her drunk, short of spiking something. Third, Dena doesn't strike me as a happy drunk, even if you did. She's more likely to hit someone than hit on them. It's just not a good plan, okay?

JANINE: Damn.

REGAN: Look, I know there are some people like that, but you're just making a guess. It's too much risk.

JANINE: Fine, but I think you shouldn't be ignoring how she--

A very short girl with blond curls, wearing chemical-stained jeans and t-shirt, bounces into the house through a screen door.

KATH: Hey folks! Sorry, I had a late lab. Some doofus in the last session before us screwed up the interferometers and everybody was getting bad results and I had to work out what was wrong.

She closes the solid door behind her, then goes over to JANINE and wraps an arm around her waist.

KATH: We've got a newbie?

JANINE: A frosh, anyway. She's no neophyte. This is Miriam's friend Regan Stacey.

REGAN: Sorry I missed the first couple of meetings. I had other stuff to take care of.

KATH: Hey, it's good. Just keep to the ground rules--no hassling people about doing magic or different beliefs--and watch for alerts.

REGAN: Alerts?

JANINE: There've been some weird outbreaks of mystical violence lately. Sounds like you know more about those than we do, actually. We've got some text codes for things like "Keep your head down" or "Get together for a binding spell," stuff like that. We'll need to get your number, if that's okay.

REGAN: That could come in handy, actually. But you shouldn't put yourselves in any danger.

JANINE: You should talk.

ADRIAN'S MOM (offscreen, calling out): Food's on! Get your stir-fry, get your grilled chicken and brats!

KATH: Let's get it in from the patio before it starts raining again. What's up with the weather today, anyway? Somebody screwing around with the natural order?

REGAN (shrugging): You never know.

EXIT ALL in a mass rush for the food.

CUT TO

EXT. ESTATE -- DAY

The grey sky casts a pall over the manor house that ROGER WYNDHAM-PRICE has occupied. It's not raining--for the moment--but there are puddles here and there on the patio where he's sitting, sipping a glass of tea. His SLAYER is doing kata on the lawn, wearing a rather damp outfit consisting of an old tank top and shorts.

ROGER: Astonishing that this is the birthplace of iced tea. It seems so civilized in most respects.

RAVENSDALE (offscreen): The region has its attractions, certainly.

He enters and--at ROGER's gesture--sits down, holding a glass of tea.

ROGER: It's time to kill her.

RAVENSDALE, with the glass to his mouth, begins to splutter.

ROGER: Not the girl. I wouldn't think of disposing so casually of such a valuable asset. The renegade.

RAVENSDALE (struggling to compose himself): You had me worried for a moment, sir.

ROGER: I thought you were going to perform one of those vile and disgusting acts reserved for American teenagers with your tea.

RAVENSDALE: Are you certain this is the best time? She could have any number of contingency plans in motion.

ROGER: One of her Slayers is barely worthy of the name. The other is, apparently, as likely to help us as interfere. But I certainly expect her to be ready for an attack by a Slayer, or a number of them. Therefore I've hired appropriate help for our girl.

A cell phone rings in ROGER's pocket. He takes it out and opens it, then listens for a moment.

ROGER: Yes, yes, guard her if you feel you must. (He hangs up.) That will be her. I have it on good authority that she stays bought, as they say, so I don't expect she'll be dangerous to us. And if she is, guns won't be of any use.

RAVENSDALE: A mercenary, sir?

ROGER: Of a sort. I must admit I'm curious regarding the source of her abilities--demon blood, perhaps? That would be unfortunate.

A pair of SECURITY GUARDS enter, flanking a WOMAN IN A YELLOW SLICKER.

RAVENSDALE: That's a rather garish look for a mercenary.

GWEN RAIDEN (pulling back her hood): Yeah, well, I don't like getting wet. So where's the money you promised me?

CUT TO  
EXT. PARK SHELTER -- DAY

It's begun to rain again here, and SOLITA is huddled on a table bench, under a shelter for picnickers. She has a couple of bruises on her arms, adding to the impression of vulnerability--she really is just a child, after all.

DENA enters from the shelter's restroom, holding a fistful of wet paper towels that she removes from her blackened left eye.

DENA: Hey, kid, see? It's no big. These things happen. You're gonna make one monster of a Slayer one of these days.

SOLITA (quietly): I don't know that I want to.

DENA: I'm gonna be fine. These things, they heal right up for us. It'll be like new in a day or so, just like you never hit me.

SOLITA: Yes, that is what Regan says. As if it never happened. And the demons, they leave no bodies.

DENA: Most of 'em. Look, don't let Regan get you down. She thinks too hard for her own good. (snorting) And she calls me repressed.

SOLITA: I don't understand. What's "repressed" mean?

DENA (amused): If you actually read your Freud, repression's the price of civilization. It means you don't follow all your impulses just because you have them. Ever not stick your hand in the cookie jar? That's repression. But Freud also had this idea that it damaged people, which is bull. Even if it did, being able to live like human beings instead of naked in the woods more than makes up for it.

SOLITA: Then you don't seem very repressed to me.

DENA (bursting into laughter): Everybody's repressed. You've started noticing boys, though, right? Regan thinks because I don't jump into bed with my boyfriend every time I get the chance, I must be all messed up inside.

SOLITA (blushing): I don't know much about boys. They tell me things in school, but it all sounds so strange.

DENA: You'll get the hang of them. Don't sweat it for now. But it's like this. You have impulses. Not just sex, all kinds of 'em. You're not gonna follow them all, and it'd be dumb to try. The important thing is, your impulses don't know right from wrong, and you have to learn which ones are okay to follow and which ones aren't. Otherwise, you cause all kinds of trouble for yourself and everyone else.

A dark form clambers through the trees nearby.

SOLITA: And Regan doesn't believe you should do that? It sounds...obvious.

DENA: I honestly don't get her. At all. Anyone remotely civilized is repressed out the wazoo. The more, the better.

SOLITA: So when I wanted to hit you, before...?

DENA: Well, we were training to fight demons. I know you didn't really want to hurt me. See, that's how repression works--there's always some good use for your impulses, and always some bad ways to use them too, and you just have to learn which is which. One day I'll get married to Marshall and we'll (makes confused hand motions)...well, maybe I should let your parents explain that, but the point is it'll be okay. But it's not okay until then. Same way, it's bad to hurt humans, but killing demons is always good, so training to kill them has to be too. Just don't go overboard.

SOLITA: What about Sadha? You don't kill her.

DENA (uncomfortable): Sadha's...more useful the way she is right now. But yeah, eventually she'll betray me. Demons do that. They can't help it. (thoughtfully) I'll have to kill her first, before she has time to plan it out.

More dark shapes can be seen prowling behind the shelter. DENA frowns, as if sensing something amiss, but shakes it off.

SOLITA: It just seems kind of mean.

DENA: If they had a choice to do anything else, it would be. But they don't. At least not any more..

SOLITA: What will happen to her soul when you kill her?

DENA (a little hesitant, for once): I...she lived and died a long time ago, Solita. I think she knows where she's supposed to be. Ask her what she thinks she deserves. Look, what do you feel about fighting? How'd you feel training with me today?

SOLITA (with a small grin): It was fun. I had a lot of fun. But I hurt you, and that's not fun.

DENA (waving it off): We heal fast. It's nothing. You just have to remember that when you hurt a demon, that's not the same thing, okay? It's okay to enjoy it when it's a demon you're hurting. (She grins broadly.) It's like being in charge, you know? You've got a life in your hands, and you have the power to just crush it and snuff it out. And the best part is, because it's a demon you have the right to. It's power, and it's yours. You're Chosen.

SOLITA scrunches up her face and says nothing.

DENA: You'll understand when you're older. Even Regan'll probably understand if she doesn't get killed. We're Slayers. It's like we're sisters. (She punches SOLITA lightly on the shoulder.) I'm a little bratty, and she's the weird geeky one, and you're the youngest.

SOLITA (distracted): When I fight, then, it's supposed to feel good?

DENA: Yup. Totally. That's what we are.

There's a loud crash from offscreen. DENA's head whips around.

DENA: Aw, hell, my car!

CUT TO

INT. MAUSOLEUM -- NIGHT

CAPTION: Last night...

This small room's walls are lined with panels, most bearing the name of the corpse hidden within. In spite of that, the room is polished till it almost seems to shine. A heavy chair like a throne stands at one end, with VAMPIRES surrounding it, some kneeling, some moving about, one holding a goblet full of blood. A scaled hand reaches out from the throne to take the goblet as the camera pans around.

The VAMPIRE seated in the throne bears a deeply-grooved forehead; like her hands and forearms, her neck and chin have erupted in serpentine scales, which rise partway up the back of her head and vanish beneath her jet-black hair. When she opens her mouth to sip at the goblet, we can see that her fangs have grown long and curved like those of a venomous snake.

VAMPIRE SERVANT (fawningly): Is it to your taste, honored Regina?

REGINA: Pah. Hardly. Bland, bland, bland.

SERVANT: My apologies, honored one. Between the Turned One and her lackeys, it is no longer safe to bring the living here. If you like, I can set the microwave for another several seconds.

REGINA: I thank you, Leonard, but the problem is not with your efforts. Slayers come and Slayers go, and this too shall pass.

LEONARD: We have located Gregory, most noble Regina, but there is a difficulty. One of his spawn has re-ensouled him.

REGINA (face twisting in rage): Is there no end to this madness!? (She rises from the throne, kicking the kneeling VAMPIRES aside.) How do they expect him to endure the burden of a human soul? Why do they care about such things? If they want us dead, then let them halt this farce and kill us!

LEONARD: My lady...shall we attempt to retrieve him?

REGINA (pensively): He is as my son, Leonard. My own spawn. Gather the warriors to fight, but I shall return Gregory myself. (She sweeps a cloak around her shoulders.) When the sun sets tomorrow, we attack.

END OF ACT II


	34. Schism: Generation of Vipers Act III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only a few more and we're done

ACT III

EXT. PARK -- DAY

In a matter of seconds, the park has gone from peaceful and virtually deserted to a milling battlefield of VAMPIRES; there don't seem to be that many, but they're moving so fast it's difficult to tell. The driver's-side door of DENA's jeep has been bashed in, its window shattered, and the passenger's side door is practically blown off; a woozy-looking VAMPIRE begins to rise to his feet a yard or two beyond. DENA seizes him by the coat, pulls him up, and stakes him.

DENA: Nobody trashes my car!

Another VAMPIRE leaps onto the Jeep's roof from the opposite side. DENA angrily hurls the stake at her, but it hits her chest lengthwise and bounces off. DENA snarls and grabs another out of her jacket.

DENA: Solita, get behind me. You've got my back, okay? (She fishes in her pockets for another stake.) I've got more stakes in the Jeep, so we need to get there.

SOLITA (taking up a position loosely behind DENA): I...I...I thought you said this was just self-defense, basic stuff.

DENA: It was. Now you're gonna have to use it. Sorry, kid. I'll explain to your mom and dad if they make a stink, but this is how it goes.

SOLITA: Are you sure--?

DENA: I've seen worse. We'll both be just fine, long as you do what I say.

The two begin making their way toward the Jeep, both moving sideways. DENA kicks the legs out from under one VAMPIRE as they move; SOLITA is about to trade blows with another when it vanishes in a cloud of dust. By the time the dust clears, whoever staked it is already gone. They reach the Jeep (the VAMPIRE on top has gone), and DENA yanks out a gym bag. She hands a stake to SOLITA and wraps the straps around her own shoulders.

SOLITA (panicky): But we need to go!

DENA: Look at the way they're moving. We can't get away in a Jeep, not with the doors open like that. They'd be on us before we could get up to speed. Vampire fights can go on for blocks, and that's with three or four of them. This...heck, I don't know what this is, but just look at how many there are. Besides, like I told you....?

SOLITA (flinching): It's our job?

A kicked VAMPIRE goes flying over their heads.

DENA: Just remember, most people are a lot worse off than you. At least you have your Slayer powers. They don't.

SOLITA: O-okay.

DENA: Just follow me, okay?

The VAMPIRE from the Jeep appears in front of DENA.

SOLITA (nervously): Ella esta...this one feels different, Dena. Like Sadha.

DENA (annoyed, to the vampire): A soul? C'mon...who warned you to flee from the wrath to come? (stakes her)

DENA and SOLITA begin making their way across the park.

CUT TO  
EXT. DOWNTOWN STREET -- DAY

The sky is spitting rain intermittently as a squad of POLICE hastily try to set up a blockade with their cars. People are running all over, screaming. A sixth-story window shatters as a body flies through it and begins to fall; a few moments later a second leaps after it. One POLICEMAN fires at a man fastening his teeth into a woman; the vampire barely even flinches and goes on feeding.

POLICE SERGEANT (through a loudspeaker): Everyone please return to your homes! We are attempting to get the situation under control. Return to your homes!

A vampire with her hands around another vampire's throat slams him into one of the police cars; they roll across the hood, struggling, ignoring the POLICE completely.

A band of VAMPIRE HUNTERS in ragged trenchcoats appears from an alleyway, carrying stakes, crosses, and crossbows.

SERGEANT (loudspeaker, off-screen): Please return to your homes and allow us to handle this!

LEAD VAMPIRE HUNTER: Sorry, officer, but you haven't got a clue what you're dealing with here. You're the ones who should go home.

The LEAD HUNTER takes aim with her crossbow at a plate glass window and fires just as someone is slammed through it; the VAMPIRE dusts amidst the shower of glass.

The SERGEANT looks to his squad for backup just in time to see the nearest member be yanked out of sight. A moment later, REGINA replaces him.

REGINA: I'm afraid I'm out of your jurisdiction, officer. (She seizes him and clamps her jaws onto his throat, dropping him after only a moment.) This is my domain.

REGINA strides forward, ignoring the POLICE as they fire on her. She does take notice of the VAMPIRE HUNTERS aiming crossbows at her--as the volley flies toward her, she vanishes in a blur of motion, then reappears with her hands around their LEADER's neck, snapping it.

REGINA (mocking): "You haven't got a clue what you're dealing with here." Go hide in your hovels, vermin.

The HUNTERS scatter in panic as REGINA walks on through the chaos.

CUT TO  
INT. MANOR DEN -- DAY

ROGER is standing in the doorway, attempting to give instructions to GWEN and his SLAYER. However, both of them are staring in horrified fascination at the television, which is displaying scenes of the battle elsewhere in town. The SLAYER says something agitated in Kiswahili, which ROGER waves away.

ROGER: Gwen, this situation constitutes excellent cover for your attack on the renegade. Even if her associates were to see her destroyed--

GWEN: Are you out of your damn mind? Or did you just go completely blind in your old age?

ROGER: Ms. Raiden, I assure you, the situation distresses me as much as it does you--

GWEN: I'll be the judge of that, thanks.

ROGER (continued): --but I don't have the luxury of responding purely on a tactical level to such things. I have the obligation to formulate overall strategy, and vampires destroying vampires is something I can only applaud and hope continues. Now, I need you to come at the renegade from a separate direction--

GWEN: I don't think so.

ROGER: I have paid you a great deal of money--

GWEN reaches into her jacket pocket, extracts a packet of cash, and tosses it at his face. He catches it awkwardly.

GWEN: Here's your deposit back. People are dying out there, and you want me to hunt down some rogue Watcher and kill her too?

ROGER: She is a vampire.

GWEN: Funny thing--last vampire that got in my way turned out to be a good guy. You, on the other hand, sound like a callous asshole hiding in a mansion while the city burns around him, and that gives me a bad feeling about following your orders. Now, I'm leaving, and if I get to the fight in time, I'm going to try and save as many lives as I can. (She turns to the SLAYER and makes beckoning gestures.) You coming with me?

The SLAYER begins to move toward her, then looks nervously at ROGER, who scowls disapprovingly and says something in Kiswahili. Deeply upset, she sits down.

GWEN (to ROGER): Just what is it you've got on her? Fine, have it your way. I'm gone.

ROGER: I was given to understand you were a mercenary.

GWEN (walking out): I am. But I have standards.

CUT TO  
EXT. SUBURBAN STREETS -- DAY

OZ's van is flying down a street full of rental homes and small college apartments.

INT. VAN

OZ is at the wheel, his expression a blank mask of concentration.

SADHA: Still believe I'm worth defending?

OZ: One riot should change my mind? You slept right through the sixties, didn't you?

SADHA (offended): That's not a valid--

A VAMPIRE comes flying across their path, bouncing onto the hood and shattering the windshield. The van veers back and forth across the road as OZ fights to stay in control, until the unwanted passenger loses his grip and is thrown off.

SADHA: I don't believe we're going to get much further.

OZ (bringing the van to a halt): Riot's come to us.

SADHA: I have faith in my Slayer to perform her task of defending the town as best she can. What of yours?

OZ: I have faith they'll kill vampires. Not so sure about the town.

VAMPIRE (off-screen): C'mere, human-lover!

A massively-built VAMPIRE in gym clothes yanks the passenger door open and grabs SADHA by the upper arm.

BODYBUILDER VAMP: I can smell the soul on you, freak! Tell me where Gregory is and I'll put you out of your misery!

SADHA: Tempting offer.

She slides her dagger out of its sheath left-handed and cuts off his hand in one swift motion.

SADHA (cont.) : But I have work to do.

She flips her feet around out of the van and into his groin, landing in a crouch atop him as he crumples.

SADHA (cont.): Now, who's Gregory and why do you want him?

CUT TO  
INT. ADRIAN'S LIVING ROOM -- DAY

It's raining heavily here, and the STUDENTS are all clustered by the patio window, staring at the vicious battle going on outside. A trio of vampires seems to be under attack by multiple assailants, but the rain makes it impossible to tell how many attackers there are or to see anyone's features clearly.

"Grapevine Fires" plays softly in the background.

ADRIAN: Holy goddess!

REGAN (angry and miserable): Coming through! Make a path! Coming through!

REGAN presses her way through the crowd toward the patio doors.

JANINE: Regan, what're you doing? It's dan--

REGAN: My job.

KATH: I thought you were a pacifist.

REGAN: I'm a Slayer. These are vampires. They're not really alive anyway. (to herself) They're not really alive. I'm just doing what I have to do.

MIRIAM (over a crack of thunder and nearby lightning): Ray, let us help you!

REGAN (half-opening the door and turning): Guys, it's not your thing to worry about. You're safer in here.

Everyone else flinches and gasps as a VAMPIRE slams into the empty space of the open doorway right behind an unconcerned REGAN.. It gets up and charges back into the fight.

KATH: Some of us know magic, too. We can fight beside you.

REGAN (growing more frustrated): Listen to me. What I'm about to do is ugly, and disturbing, and sick. You don't need to be part of this. You don't want to be part of it. I don't want to be part of it, but it's the lesser of evils, and I have an obligation. You don't. Got that?

She turns and attempts to go out, and MIRIAM seizes her left hand. The rest of the group begins to follow suit, forming a loose chain that ends with ADRIAN, who takes hold of her right wrist since she's gripping the doorknob with that hand.

JANINE: We're with you.

REGAN: Aw, hell. Okay, follow my lead. There's something I guess I've kind of wanted to try out, and I never had enough energy of my own to make it work.

REGAN opens both patio doors and shifts so that ADRIAN can grip her hand. The group squeezes outside onto the patio. As they go, bookbags and backpacks begin to spontaneously open behind them, spilling pencils out into the air.

Music growing louder. [...and the news reports on the radio...]

REGAN: Just keep your focus, okay? Let me guide the group's energy.

The pencils are joined by all manner of wooden debris from the ground--fallen branches and twigs and bark, and a few broken bits and pieces of wood that emerge from underneath the patio.

[...said it was getting worse...]

The wooden debris forms into a circle that whirls protectively around the STUDENTS; a couple of vampires racing across the yard are caught in the bombardment and almost instantly impaled.

Without warning, REGAN lets go her grip on the others' hands and strides out through the ring of debris, which parts around her and immediately closes again. She stalks towards the three VAMPIRES, who stop trying to escape through the yard and two of whom look up at her from beneath slicker hoods that partially conceal their faces. The third vampire simply seems to stop there, ignoring her.

Some of the STUDENTS try to follow and are stung by flying splinters; they retreat.

HOODED FEMALE VAMPIRE: Please...you've got to help us. We just want to get--

[As the ocean air fanned the flames]

REGAN: You pieces of crap. This is your fault, isn't it?

HOODED MALE VAMPIRE: We're on your--

[But I couldn't think...]

REGAN kicks him in the groin, then just as easily swats away an attacker approaching from behind her.

REGAN: You are not on my side, you unnatural, impure perversion of life.

CUT TO  
the students, eyes and mouths wide open.

KATH (wincing): Ouch.

[...of anywhere I would've rather been]

REGAN draws back and punches one of the vampires full in the face.

REGAN: You want me to pity you? You walking disease!

REGAN's motions are stiff and jerky compared to DENA's, but her blows are focused and aimed for precision effect. She seems completely aware of both the two vampires she's fighting directly and the assailants who approach her from the sides.

The rain begins to slacken.

[To watch it all burn away]

REGAN: You know I can feel you, right? Inside me. You make me sick. I mean, demons, they're just not from here, but you...you make me want to puke. You're anti-life, anti-nature....You're monsters, and you exist to make us into monsters.

REGAN grabs one of the vampires by the throat, and his hood falls away. It's HAROLD.

REGAN: That's all you're here for. You want me to help you? I hate you!

She slams her other fist into his mouth.

[To burn awa-a-ay...]

The rain ceases.

CUT TO  
The sky, as the clouds thin with impossible, unnatural speed, and the sunlight begins to break through.

CUT TO  
EXT. ADRIAN'S YARD -- DAY

REGAN shoves HAROLD roughly away as he bursts into flames. 

REGAN (roughly): I hate you, dammit!

Several other vampires smolder or catch fire as the shaft of sunlight that has caught HAROLD grows and other beams burst through the clouds, although another HOODED VAMPIRE manages to escape into a storm sewer. The third is nowhere to be seen.

[Burn...]

CUT TO  
EXT. PARK -- DAY

DENA and SOLITA, who've worked their way a good thirty yards up the road, are suddenly alone as beams of sunlight sweep across the ground, incinerating their attackers.

CUT TO  
EXT. STREET -- DAY

OZ, reacting quickly, throws a ratty blanket over SADHA and drags her back into the van. Moments later, the edge of the clouds' shadow sweeps over them.

[Burn...]

CUT TO  
EXT. DOWNTOWN -- DAY

REGINA, smoldering, tears the cover from a manhole and dives in even as she catches fire. A bewildered S.W.A.T. TEAM looks around.

[Burn...]

CUT TO  
EXT. ADRIAN'S YARD -- DAY

REGAN crumples to her knees. The whirling cloud of debris slackens and drops to the ground. The music fades out.

REGAN (very quietly, almost a sob): Damn me, I hate you.

JANINE (softly): Whoa.

MIRIAM hurries over to REGAN's side and tries to help her up, but REGAN refuses to allow it. A few moments later the other STUDENTS begin to arrive.

REGAN (very quietly, crying): Gods damn it, what are we supposed to do?

END ACT III

CODA

INT. RENTAL LIVING ROOM -- NIGHT

DENA is sitting in an easy chair, looking even more sullen and angry than usual; SOLITA is perched on the chair arm, her eyes focused inward on worries of her own. She keeps sniffling, not sadly but as if she has a cold.

SADHA enters from a side door, fidgeting with the hem of her shirt, and sits on the futon near DENA.

SADHA: Regan's gone to bed. She said she's not feeling well, and I think I believe her.

DENA (grouchily): Lame. You'd think she hadn't just kicked massive vampire butt.

SADHA: Not everyone possesses your...unique coping skills.

DENA: People screwing with my personal life is something I hafta cope with. Killing vampires is something I enjoy.

OZ enters from the kitchen, carrying a tray of burgers, as DENA finishes speaking. He gives SADHA a significant glance, but she ignores him.

OZ: Vampires enjoy killing, too.

DENA: Don't play games with me. That's not the same thing.

OZ lets SOLITA take a burger; he tries to move the tray out of DENA's reach, but she's too fast for him. She grabs two and digs in voraciously.

SADHA: A pity I was unable to find out who this "Gregory" was.

SOLITA (to DENA): Are you going to sit on opposite sides of the room all night?

DENA, chewing on a burger, says nothing.

OZ (studying a burger) : Mustard, ketchup, horseradish, burba root, pickles, extra salt...I think this is yours, Sadha.

SADHA takes the burger and bites into it tentatively.

OZ: I left it extra rare. Should have some blood in it still.

SADHA doesn't respond, except to tilt her head back and forth and make a faint "hmm" sound.

SOLITA (to DENA, rubbing her own nose): I think Marshall is just as upset by this as you are.

DENA (grumpily): I know.

OZ crosses the room and offers a burger to an unfamiliar COLLEGE GIRL with short dark brown hair, light brown eyes, uncomfortably large and apparently unsupported breasts, and a glare that nearly equals DENA's.

OZ (evenly): Marshall...or should I say Marsha?...this one's yours.

MARSHALL (taking the burger): Dena, anything you can do about black magic? I tried an exorcism but it didn't help.

DENA: I dunno. I'm tempted to go upstairs and pound on her till she gives me the answer. (SADHA glares; DENA's response is defensive) I said "tempted", didn't I? I'm not gonna do it.

SADHA: As a matter of fact, Regan managed to explain to me how to break the spell, despite being terribly distraught over what she did today. And before you ask, I actually don't believe she approves of this at all, or had anything directly to do with it.

DENA: Yeah, sure, whatever. I'm not praying to her stupid false goddess.

SADHA: Oh, nothing like that. (amused) It merely requires a kiss.

DENA (shrugging): I'll go talk to my dad in the morning, Marshall. We should be able to figure out some kind of casting-out that'll take care of this. Stupid demonic spells. It might take a few days.

MARSHALL (resignedly): Fine. Can I borrow some more of your pads? And a bra or two?

OZ: Hers might be a little small for you.

SOLITA (to SADHA): They are serious? (fishes out a tissue and blows her nose)

DENA: What kind of hypocrite do you think I am, kid? Rules are rules.

SADHA: I hate to break up this happy moment, but I really do suspect he should be male again by the time you're finished. Unless you insist on being very quick about it, at least.

DENA folds her arms and rolls her eyes.

OZ: Willow always told me breaking spells with escape clauses without using the clauses was kinda dangerous.

DENA: Aw, hell. You tell anyone about this, and I will beat you up.

She gets up and approaches MARSHALL/the camera, leaning down and puckering up in the least sexy way imaginable.

CUT TO BLACK

"Grapevine Fires" plays.

The black peels back with a zipping noise, revealing a MORTICIAN staring down at the camera.

CUT TO  
INT. MORGUE -- NIGHT

[The firemen worked in double shifts]

MORTICIAN: I'm afraid I can't explain it. He's entirely rigid, but it doesn't seem to be rigor mortis. The muscle tissue almost seems responsive under certain stimuli. There's no sign of decomposition at all.

[With prayers for rain on their lips]

POLICEMAN: I can't explain it either, ma'am. But the military's asked we ship him in ASAP. Don't ask; apparently it's classified.

SHOT OF  
GREGORY's face as the body bag is rezipped. His left eyelid twitches.

[They knew it was only a matter of time]

ROLL CREDITS

Special Guest Star: Erica Durance as Marshall

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was written way back in 2009 and set even earlier. At the time, relatively few people would have batted an eye at calling Marshall "she" for the duration of his transformation, with the possible exception of Janine and Kath, and maybe not even them.


End file.
